


(Which of the) Bold-faced Lies

by KyryeDuBarie



Series: The Soulmate AU and it's ramifications [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Branches off chapter 10, Complicated Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Music, Oh god so much music, Post-Canon, Romance, Smut, Soulmate AU, To NOSB, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyryeDuBarie/pseuds/KyryeDuBarie
Summary: So, in their own way they matched. Misery, and company, and whatever.Or so Tobio thought, until today.--------------------------------An alternate ending to No other shade of Blue (But you) Tkkg
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: The Soulmate AU and it's ramifications [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022836
Comments: 101
Kudos: 102





	1. (and nobody leads) at all

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are, this thing just kept getting longer, at first it was gonna be 10k and it just is going nuts, I do have an outline, but a bunch of things keep happening in it, that said, I'm having the biggest most fun time with it so I'm happy, I'll probably be updating weekly depending on my work schedule soooo  
> I really do hope y'all enjoy.  
> This one's for the ones that gave me the idea you know who you are, thank you for feeding my crazy brain.  
> Also, this chapter is all Kags, because we kinda need to get familiar with his head.
> 
> FOR ANYONE NEW!! This is an alternate ending to my fic No other shade of Blue. It's Tsukkikage and it branches off around chapter/ 9-10. It's a soulmate AU where you can hear music your soulmate is singing/hearing. Kags is Hinata's soulmate, but he was kind of an ass about it and that crashed and burned, Hina is currently engaged to Kenma.
> 
> Tsukki and Kuroo are soulmates, Kuroo refused to ever find out by taking pills that blocked the music, Tsukki didn't tell him, then they eventually started dating, Kuroo found out and everything went to high hell. It's still a lot better if you all do read up to that part though. 
> 
> THERE WILL BE NO SHIP/CHARACTER BASHING. Because I'm not about that, but the breakup /is/ important to the beginning of this story. Still, as some of you might know I never like to portray anyone as a horrible person or as absolutely perfect so....
> 
> And so, here we go :)

The microwave beeps, once, twice. It’s the second time he runs it, the tea is going to end up either horribly hot or not enough. Probably the second because Tobio makes no effort to get it. He busies himself with cutting a cantaloupe into perfect tiny squares instead.

Look at him prepping fruit for a mid-practice snack tomorrow. His dietitian might be proud.-

Or she might just not be very surprised, for all of Tobio’s temper and his general short sightedness, he still holds both himself and everyone else up to the same incredibly high standards that he always has. He’s just slightly more civil about it now, and being surrounded by people with the same mindset helps like one wouldn’t believe.

He wasn’t alone after all, he has said so as much to his grandfather’s grave -something along the lines of _you were right_ , and _thank you for not letting me become completely hopeless, god knows how much of an asshole I would be if you had-_ even though he wouldn’t admit it outright to anyone else.

Especially those very close to him.

His eyes drift to the couch, to the two figures wrapped around each other there.

Another thirty second cycle is punched into the microwave’s buttons. The humming helps him concentrate on the cantaloupe, after years of taking care of his hands more than any other part of his body it would be stupid to lob off a finger or two just because Tsukishima is canoodling on the couch with his stupid, overly-attached boyfriend -besides, one of those two would have to drive him to the ER and Tobio has no idea which would be worse, at least Kuroo isn’t so familiar with him as to make stupid jokes…he thinks-.

He grunts, almost done.

And then the voice is there, the familiar one that is as much a bolt of lightning as it is a constant, low-intensity ache of regret radiating from the very core of his being. It’s something in Spanish, maybe Portuguese, Tobio has never much cared for music, or languages -a fatal flaw for someone who always knew they would end up going International, according to Tsukishima- so he does his best to ignore that high lilt that never has been all that off-key.

It’s only his luck that Hinata can somewhat carry a tune, it would be so much easier to drown him out if he didn’t.

_Luck_.

In the sliding scale of luck, Tobio is pretty sure he did something just horrible enough in a past life for his allotment good luck for this one to run out just after getting the family he did, discovering volleyball, and then maybe the last spark flared and went when he got into Karasuno.

As for the rest, he either has worked his ass off for, or it’s just contradicting byproducts of his own and everyone else’s bad luck.

Like his sort-of friendship with Tsukishima.

Bah, whatever, he has volleyball, that can be enough.

That _is_ enough.

The cantaloupes are cut and put away, his tea is hot enough to strip one or two layers of skin. He turns off the kitchen light and is just turning into the corridor that leads to the rooms when the whispering inevitably catches his attention.

Not so much whispering, cooing.

At first he thinks he’s hearing things because someone that looks like Kuroo shouldn’t be able to produce a voice that sounds like _that,_ and because he’s still ignoring the Spanish-Portuguese-whatever-it-is in the back of his head. But it is indeed Kuroo, talking to Tsukishima in the kind of voice that normally gets the blond in a very pissy mood.

It really is beyond him why he stays after he’s made sure some cooing ghost _hasn_ _’t_ begun haunting their apartment. There’s something about the scene that makes it so that he just can’t get his eyes off it.

Maybe, he thinks bitterly to himself, it’s the same reason why it’s hard not to keep staring at a ball that’s going to fall and give the point to the other team.

But that’s not all.

Hidden in the shadows of the half-lit living room, Kuroo’s sharp eyes meet his. They’re more curious than hostile, but Tobio is taken aback, suddenly much more conscious of himself and where he is, and how he looks.

He gives the older man a curt nod and makes the turn down the corridor, tea in his hand.

Distantly, he remembers that song Tsukishima was so obsessed with a couple of years ago, to the point that Tobio banned it from the apartment.

_'Cause once you fuck the fire, all that's left to do is burn._

_Baby burn_

_Baby burn_

.

.

The still un-signed contract at the bottom of one of his nightstand drawers calls out to Tobio.

He's not even _supposed_ to sign it until his last match with the Adlers is over or something like that, but the stupid piece of paper still feels like it's glowing alien blue and pulsing with a sort of energy that Tobio would call nervous if that were even possible. 

This is natural, a progression from the work he's been doing since childhood, it's the right thing and Tobio couldn't be more sure of it.

But the stupid contract is still bugging him, and it has nothing to do with the amount they're offering, the amount is more than fine, it's stellar.

At least things here, at home are somewhat settled, he thinks, slipping under the covers of his bed and taking note of the soft footsteps outside of his door. 

For now, things are alright here, at home, for now.

The more pessimistic part of him, the one that brags in Hinata's sing-song lilt says that they're not likely to remain that way.

.

.

Romero has this way of making people drink.

He even managed to get Ushijima well and truly drunk once, though that was never allowed again, they ended up with a terrifyingly adorable Ushijima that kept praising people and who then fell asleep at the table. Which was almost funny until they realized he wasn’t going to wake up for a while and no one was sober enough not to trip over their own feet, much less drag ninety kilograms of world-class volleyball player out of the Izakaya.

But then, everyone but Ushijima is fair game, and since it’s supposedly Tobio and Hoshiumi that are being celebrated today, they're the preferred victims of the Brazilian athlete.

The man knows so many drinking games, that by the time midnight rolls around Tobio is more than just a little drunk and he’s somewhat embarrassed about the whole thing. The fact that even Hoshiumi, who can usually drink most of them under the table, is in much the same state is only a small consolation.

Mostly because the white-haired man seems to be enjoying the inebriation a lot more than Tobio is, even if he _has_ hit his shoulders on a couple of things already.

For about fifteen minutes, as he’s dragged off to a club, a hand that’s slightly smaller than his own and twice as calloused closed around his wrist.

Hoshiumi is rambling, he knows Tobio is too drunk to really listen, but he’s too drunk too really care. Only when they’re outside of the club does the spiker actually address him like he's expecting some sort of answer. “Does your roommate still have that horrid cold?” His eyes are wide, assessing, pupils a little bigger and more round than usual.

Tobio squints at him. “Why do you ask?”

Tsukishima is still sick, hard for him not to be when the flu from hell started just two days ago, and Kuroo has been on him like a fly on honey all that time. There’s no reason for Hoshiumi to ask, though because as far as Tobio knows they’ve spoken about twice. “I was just wondering.” He gives Tobio an innocent look that he doesn’t buy for a second. Tobio’s eyes meet his. “Just wondering.” He grins, a dimple appearing on his right cheek. "I live alone, but you know that already."

And then Hoshiumi whips around, whistling, and heads into the club.

Tobio’s experience when it comes to these things isn’t particularly ample -that’s to say, it begins and ends with his roommate whom he has known so long that it should be weird, and then there was that one time with Ushijima that came out of nowhere and was never repeated- but he knows that look, it’s a door left open by a sliver, a card slipped into a pocket after a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

He tilts his head back, the sky above him is a dark, burnt orange, Sendai isn’t a small city and he's smack in the district with the most light pollution in the whole city, unlike back home he can’t see the moon or the stars here.

Someone’s smoking a couple of meters from him, Hinata is watching a kids show with a really high-pitched, obnoxious song, Tsukishima is probably doing something gross and passing his gross germs onto Kuroo.

Tobio turns around and walks into the club, swaying just slightly.

.

.

Hoshiumi takes the bird imagery to a new level.

Or at least that’s what Tobio thinks when his eyes open on a sloping glass marquee that showcases the cloud-capped sky outside. He has to look to the side to find the actual wall. He does remember commenting on it last night, the other man lives in an older neighborhood, one of the few with old, short buildings still standing, and he seems to have taken possession of an attic apartment.

Which is lovely, but really pushes the bird thing.

His head is pounding, Tobio yawns, at least it’s quiet.

The other side of the bed is cold, and he can hear the thumping of feet somewhere to his right. His eyes follow the noise until he finds Hoshiumi jogging on a treadmill that Tobio failed to notice last night, in shorts and a T-shirt, not looking like he stuffed himself with a whole bottle of vodka among other things last night at all. “Hey! Tobio! good morning!” He calls, grinning wide and Tobio hates him a little for it. “I didn’t wake you did I? I mean I’ve been at this for an hour already, so I’m sure I didn’t.”

Well, not _him,_ him.

This is hard, why does he even drink?

“What time is it?” he half-asks, half-groans, propping himself up on his elbows. Belatedly noticing that he apparently didn’t have the presence of mind to get more than a sock back on his body last night.

And he’s sticky, ugh.

Hoshiumi seems to notice. “Oh, just about ten-” he snickers maliciously, probably noticing Tobio’s predicament when he looks around the room. “-bathroom’s through there.” He jerks his thumb at a bright blue door in the corner.

Tobio shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t have to be told twice before he gathers the sheets around his waist and awkwardly toddles over to the bathroom.

Well, that was… something.

He’s at that distressing point of a hangover where he feels too warm no matter what, but the cold water of the shower helps.

Somehow, he can’t feel too distressed about it -it doesn’t feel like there’s much to be distressed about, at least apart from the fact that Hoshiumi is _jogging-_ , but maybe that’s going to happen later, as it is, Tobio quietly goes through his morning routine or as much of it as he can do here.

At least he finds his clothes when he steps out, and Hoshiumi is out of sight. Tobio dresses quickly, almost perfunctorily and he really is planning to just say goodbye sand slink off as he always has from Tsukishima’s bed.

“Catch.” Hoshiumi calls. And Tobio does, reflexes kicking in, the mango doesn’t fall to the floor. “Help me out with that, won’t you?” The white haired man says, pointing at a knife holder before he busies himself again with chopping strawberries.

Dumbfounded, Tobio obeys. “Uh-”

“Hey, I don’t want to have someone call me and say you fainted on the way to your house.” Hoshiumi laughs. “Though with the amount of daiquiri’s you had last night I don’t think that’s likely.”

Tobio can feel his nose scrunching up. “Thanks-”

“Sorry I didn’t save you some breakfast by the way-” Hoshiumi continues. “-you were sleeping pretty soundly, drooling on the pillow and everything.”

“Wha- how long have you been awake?” Tobio asks, finally finding something to say that doesn't feel painfully awkward.

Hoshiumi laughs, again, and sunlight from the kitchen window bouncing off his eyes. “Eight.” He shrugs. “I don’t get hangovers, pretty nifty, huh?”

“More like unfair.” he turns the mango carefully in his hand, peeling the skin off in a perfect spiral. “You’re leaving next week, aren’t you? To do tryouts and stuff.”

“Yeah, just for a bit.” Hoshiumi pours the strawberries in two porcelain bowls. “Then in November if I get accepted to any of the clubs I have in mind. When does your contract start? Pretty lucky that the season here is just about over, huh?”

Tobio presses his lips together. “Yeah,” the decision to leave was not one he made lightly, but it _was_ a long time coming. "I think December, depending on our schedule I could push it back, or forward, I still don't know."

“How long do you think it is from Rome to Milan? Can’t be too much, right? With trains and whatnot, we could meet up, be like, pals away from home. I don't think there are any Japanese players in the ones I'm applying to.” His hip is propped against the counter, head tilted to the side, a wide smirk stretching his lips. “I had fun last night.”

For a second Kageyama sees someone else.

But he blinks and it is Hoshiumi, white hair, citrine eyes. It’s times like these that Tobio realizes he grew too accustomed to reminiscing , to punishing himself with the look of someone -with the feelings for that person- that only lives in his memory. Someone he actually did get over, but getting over him is something the whole world has been telling Tobio is impossible for his whole life. He blinks again, this is Hoshiumi, and Tobio actually likes him as a person. “So did I.” He says, eyes on the careful strokes of the knife through the pulpy fruit.

.

.

**_FROM: HOSHIUMI KOURAI -14:37_ **

_***attached video***_

_***attached video***_

_This is gonna be my setter, best in the European league three years running._

_Think you_ _’re gonna dethrone him hot stuff?_

**_FROM: ME -14: 51_ **

_That dump had three different tells._

_He has the most service-aces out of the Italian teams too._

_Ha_

_But get me an autograph_

_._

_._

It's early enough that Tobio still refuses to call it morning when Tobio is woken up by a racket -and a not-small amount of cursing- coming from Tsukishima's room. 

He knows the blond is supposed to leave later today, to meet Kuroo in Tokyo and hopefully -finally- do the thing that Tobio has been calling him an idiot for not doing for the last few years. But as far as the blond ranted to him while making plans for the big soulmate confession, before last night, he's supposed to leave in the afternoon, and it's-

Tobio pulls his phone out form under the pillow and glares at it. It's half-past-three in the morning.

What the hell?

The blond didn't mention anything about leaving sooner last night, but he also didn't mention much at all, it was hard enough to annoy the few words that he did say about whatever's going on with Kuroo now.

Well, Tobio generally goes on a run around five and he's not going to be able to sleep now, he gets up and slips into his jogging clothes, frowning at anything he sees as he does. Whatever the hell happened to Tsukishima better be bad, if he had to go and make a racket at such an indecent hour it probably is.

He loiters around in his room for a bit though, because Tsukishima is the kind that yells when he's rage-doing something and gets interrupted, so Tobio only does leave his room when the noise has mostly died down. 

The scene he finds is a little ridiculous, and frankly, very concerning. Tsukishima is sitting on the couch, in front of the TV which is playing a rerun of some cheesy drama that Tobio remembers his mother watching when he was in high school. The TV is muted and Tsukishima is just staring blankly ahead, clearly not following whatever is happening on the screen, too lost in his own head Tobio figures. There's a suitcase by his feet, hastily packed, probably because the sleeve of a sweater is peeking out of the half zipped side.

Huh, that's strange.

"Oi-" he calls. No answer. "Tsukishima-"

All the acknowledgment he gets is a shrug of Tsukishima's shoulders.

Oh, fine. Tobio turns around towards the kitchen and runs the coffee maker. There are few things that could put the blond in a state like this, but judging by the fact that only one of those things is far enough away that he'd require a suitcase and to wait for the trains to start running, Tobio knows exactly who he's thinking about.

Kuroo, it's always Kuroo.

And whatever happened is bad, but Tsukishima isn't going to say much more than the hastily mumbled 'Kuroo is in the hospital' that he gave Tobio after a whole lot of jabs and prompting last night. Tobio sighs as the coffee maker starts working, he turns back to the living room and goes to sit on the other side of the couch. 

Somehow, the words that he tells Tsukishima then, meant to console, however harshly, sound hollow to his ears.

Helplessness, like he hasn't felt since that one day that included looking up at an airport screen and seeing 'departed' in a row that also said Brazil, fills him.

Tsukishima looks like he's feeling just about the same. 

So Tobio does the only thing he can -the only thing he can do now, since other options are not options anymore- and calls him a cab.

.

.

It's Ushijima -also soon to leave- that notices Tobio's phone ringing where it's laid on the bench.

Usually, Tobio wouldn't answer, _usually_.

But since Tsukishima disappeared through the door to their apartment this morning he's had that sick, foreboding feeling. It's probably just that his own history makes Tobio too wary and pessimistic.

Or maybe it's that he can see both sides, knows both people that are enmeshed in that mess of a relationship, soulmate-bond, whatever just well enough to be aware of what might just happen, what probably already has.

For some reason, by the time he answers, his lips feel a little numb. "Were you right? Where are you?"

There's a pause, and then a high, lilting sound that could be a choked of sob bouncing off the walls of some place with a lot of echo. "Train station." Tsukishima gasps, broken and wet. "I'm coming home-" he sniffs. "I'm taking the next train."

The strain in Tsukishima's voice is evident. Tobio wouldn't point it out, but the fact is, it's there, and in all these years, through all the stupid yearning and the binge drinking when they both could get away with this, Tobio has never heard Tsukishima cry. Maybe he's seen the other misty-eyed, or unbearably sad like he's one of those songs he insists on listening, but never crying, never desperate. Not like this. "I'm picking you up."

He can hear the blond inhaling, doing his best to level his voice. "Alright."

It's in how defeated he sounds, the thing that triggers that side of Tobio's that's cleaned Tsukishima up and gotten him to bed when things go to bad, the one that knows Tsukishima has done the same for him and sometimes more. "I'll get you something to drink." he says, automatically, he'll get something to eat too but he doesn't say that, Tsukishima would protest.

That might be good right now though.

But he keeps it to himself anyways, already too caught up in that familiar rush of fondness masquerading as annoyance and duty.

.

_._

It’s rush hour when Tsukishima arrives.

Tobio wades through the growing tide of people in the train station, at least the blond is easy to spot, usually just because he’s around half a foot taller than the average Japanese, today also because he’s slumped against a concrete pillar, hair sticking up in all directions like he’s spent the last couple of hours running his fingers through it until his scalp hurt. And people are staring at him like he might make a scene.

Which, considering the situation, is probably the case.

“Oi!” Tobio calls, reaching out and anchoring himself to Tsukishima’s shoulder. When he turns, the blond’s eyes are red and almost look glazed over. “Lets go.”

At least this time they’re following the flow of people, so there’s less shoulder and hip bumping, but for some reason, the walk to Tobio’s car seems endless. Somehow, his hand has ended up loosely wrapped around Tsukishima’s icy-cold wrist and the blond hasn’t so much as uttered a word, and he doesn’t either when they do get into the old car with it’s worn leather seats and the splotch of nail polish on the dashboard from where Miwa once spilled some. Viridian green, Tobio hasn't gotten around to scraping it off just yet.

Breathing in a long breath, Tobio tastes tears, they’re not his but the salty aftertaste hangs in the air the way air freshener should.

His hands hesitate when heading for the steering wheel.

And just then Tsukishima snorts.

It’s a sad, aborted sound and he doesn’t keep laughing after, only the little snort breaking through the tear-scented silence. And then Tobio can’t help but glance curiously his way, something he’s been avoiding out of the deep, grudging-in-name, respect that he feels towards the blond.

Tsukishima is staring blankly ahead, back stiff, fingers bunched up in his lap. He notices Tobio’s gaze, but doesn’t turn to him. “Drive.” His fingers clutch tighter.

“Alright-” Tobio grumbles, lip curling upwards. “-Alright.” He turns the key in the ignition and feels how the car rumbles on. He reaches, on reflex for the turned off stereo, Tobio doesn’t bother with it, but Tsukishima usually is connecting his phone to the bluetooth as soon as-

“Don’t-” Tsukishima’s hazy golden eyes are focused on him now, he slaps Tobio’s hand away from the button. “-just don’t.”

Pulling back, he licks his lips nervously.

As a stupid, frustrated child, Tobio used to wish he had someone to bitch about this with. It wasn’t so much wishing ill on anyone, but the fact that, having fucked up whatever might have been in store for him -and it may have been nothing, but it doesn’t _feel_ that way- with his own soul mate, he couldn’t even talk shit about it with other people because most of his generation is utterly obsessed with them, just felt unfair.

Enter Tsukishima, although they weren’t the same. Tobio always did think he might just do something mildly unspeakable for the chance to do things decently and maybe change his outcome that the blond just shoved in a drawer to gather dust, it irked him that all that stood in his way was silence. And it didn’t matter that the whole thing was a little hypocritical, because he knew Tsukishima probably thought the same of him, that just speaking up and gritting out an apology might have led somewhere.

So, in their own way they matched. Misery, and company, and whatever.

Or so Tobio thought, until today, until the icy wrist and Tsukishima slapping his hand away, until they drive out of the parking lot into a slight drizzle. The air he’s just breathe din gets caught in his lungs, it roars, protective. Tsukishima is an idiot, but Kuroo is a bigger one. If it was his job in this to be mad, he’d be halfway to Tokyo already, but as far as roles go the odd one they alternate in this friendship is different.

It’s seeing the ugly, the sick in the bathroom tiles, the nails cut so short they bleed, the time Tobio cut his own hair because… just because.

“You can have my Cabernet.” He says, at the first stoplight. "I also got us vodka, and some ramen."

“Thank you,” Tsukishima finally rasps out when they get to the basement of their apartment complex and the car has been parked for all of five minutes.

The Viridian Green spot on the dashboard makes Tobio sick, he gets out of the car.

_._

_._

What comes after they get upstairs, after Tsukishima has gotten just past tipsy and Tobio is a couple of steps behind -a couple of drinks behind on the Cabernet-, is no surprise. It's the brilliant -until a couple of weeks ago, oft repeated- dance they've been executing to perfection for years.

There have been other times of course, when Tobio was the one way down the rabbit hole. Soul mates do spell bad luck, to Tobio more than to most other people. Tsukishima really seems to surround himself with disasters, doesn't he?

The first time this happened, he’d dropped the fake smile at the door, from high in his face where he’d been wearing it all day. After all he isn’t a _complete_ asshole, and after everything, he always felt he owed Hinata a modicum of decency, or at least to not be outright bitter at the other being, well... himself. And that, in their situation, translated to not being a living reminder of the whole issue. Anything else is fair game, just not that.

So the mask stayed on at the airport, through the goodbyes and the stupidly scenic fall leaves on the floor. Tobio even gave Hinata a hug, for fucks sake, and the fact that the barely remembers that particular part is testament enough to how much he pushed himself through the whole ordeal.

But then, of course, one can only stretch thin so far, and the second he and Tsukishima crossed the threshold of the apartment, Tobio snapped. Two years living together and a handful of rather drunk make out sessions weighing over them, Tobio turned around, met Tsukishima’s slightly concerned gaze and proceeded to pull the blond in by the collar of his cardigan.

They were stone cold sober, and Tobio knew, and Tsukishima _knew_ that excusing it would be so much harder if they went on that way.

A leap like that, it’s never fully excusable, but it also felt like the most natural, the most logical progression. Even if it wasn’t. So go on they did.

That day, they ended up in Tsukishima’s bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, bodies carefully positioned so they wouldn’t touch at all. Everything smelt like salt and wooden floor polish, everything was so quiet that Tobio could only groan, and try to reach for Tsukishima again only for his hand to meet cold glass. “You keep a brandy bottle in your room?” he remembers saying, and Tsukishima just raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to reject the numbing agent.

It was inexcusable, but they never have needed excuses between them, Tobio took the bottle.

“I'm giving it to you king.” Tsukishima said, a long time after that happened, when the liquor was down to a quarter of the bottle and his cheeks were flushed. “There’s someone more stubborn than me.” But his eyes were fond, his body was loose, and that time, when Tobio breathed in the familiar, yet-startling scent of his conditioner form the pillowcase and reached out once more, Tsukishima reached for him. "I couldn't have-"

Tobio reached back.

And back, and back.

.

.

Of course then he got sick as a dog from it, because a bottle it still a bottle and neither of them drink that much or that often, disastrous love lives aside.

And Tsukishima, though he'd also had some brandy, kind of had to be the sane person.

He cleaned up the bathroom while Tobio slept.

Another thing that wouldn’t be spoken about, they both knew, even back then when it was all so new. The box of desserts from a particular bakery that showed up on the dining room table later that week was also, barely mentioned -aside, of course for a couple comments about Tsukishima’s ass getting fat, Tobio couldn’t go and make it all awkward, now, could he?- although it's contents disappeared soon enough.

.

.

Today the blond isn’t reaching though, he’s pulling in, taking. Gluttonous and forward, like he’s trying to fill in a hole in the earth as fast as he can, like he’s trying to use Tobio’s warmth to thaw himself, the only other option being bitter, killing, frostbite.

“Scoot back-” Tobio growls, climbing between the blond’s legs in a way that shouldn’t be possible with two people so tall in a tiny couch. But he can, and Tsukishima does find a point to prop his back up on the armrest, knees pointing out, an invitation, an open book to Tobio. Tobio who _knows_ , and because he _knows_ his hands brace themselves on Tsukishima’s thighs, holding them open as much as they help him lean forward, until he’s hovering and he can see that spark of desperation in the blond’s eyes.

That’s how everything is, and continues to be tonight, desperate, no quips, no sharp tongue or purposefully tickling Tobio’s ribs. No, Tsukishima unfurls, unspools, in a manner that isn’t graceful at all and is all the more raw for it. His legs end up shamelessly wrapped around Tobio’s torso, his hands digging into the setter’s scalp to the point where it’s more like he’s holding himself from falling into the dark, faraway void of a precipice rather than tugging Tobio close for kisses that are more bite than brush, more tear-like saltiness than wine.

He demands to be undressed, he- “I can’t believe you’re being such a softie.” He mocks and asserts and allows not for Tobio to pull back, even to look.

Although maybe it’s better that he doesn’t look, maybe it’s better to take care of things the way they always have, in bursts of fumbling, trusting movement, that are only possible to tolerate, unexplained, in the dark.

“Shut up, you’re the one that gets hot from getting pushed down like this.” Tobio says, a hand splayed over expanse of taut skin on the other’s chest, under it, Tsukishima’s heart flutters despite it’s bruised self, it picks up and Tsukishima’s cheeks go red, but that’s better than the pale, hollowed out look from before, so Tobio takes it, oh, he does. He hoists heavy legs over his shoulders, he keeps pushing Tsukishima down, looking, _looking_ for the first time in the eons this has lasted.

And an odd, smug sort of satisfaction fills him when Tsukishima shudders, when his athlete's muscles clench to their breaking point and then relax into tired laxness.

The second wave of that satisfaction comes when, after some unspeakable amount of time, Tsukishima grabs the bottle that’s three quarters finished, and heads for Tobio’s room.

There isn’t a need for excuses, not between them, not in the dark.

By the time Tobio catches up and pushes Tsukishima on top of the bed, broad back blocking out any stray rays of light coming from the street far below, the bottle is empty.

_._

_._

For the rest of the week, Tsukishima wants to be alone. Tobio lets him.

A bunch of people are leaving the Adlers this year, and there’s a celebration every three steps he takes. So he lets himself be dragged along, the season has been over for a bit so it’s fine.

And maybe, maybe all he finds in his throat lately when he talks to Tsukishima are excuses, explanations, futile little things that taste like lies even though they technically aren’t. Anyway, he tries not to think much about that, it is unfortunate Tsukishima and Kuroo crashed and burned when they did, the way they did, but not wholly unexpected. But it doesn’t change the fact that Tobio’s next step is clear -even though, for a second there, he was even a little glad that Tsukishima wasn’t being left alone with only people that absolutely put up with his bullshit, maybe he should have waited to see before feeling that way.

In the end it’s Miwa, that puts it into words, the way she always has, because condensing his emotions like that always did give Tobio a headache. “I always did think you two were a little too tortured together to be platonic.” She says, and then, when Tobio glares at her. “Oh lil’ bro, believe me or don’t-” she rolls her eyes at him, chuckling. “-but it’s fine to actually, you know, do things for the people you care about.

Tobio looks up at her, eyes searching her face as she does whatever she’s doing to his eyebrows -he has always been a sort of practice dummy for her makeup stuff, at least now she actually knows what she’s doing-. Miwa doesn’t know about the sex, she’s not supposed to anyways, so she probably doesn’t understand that all this time they _have_ been doing exactly that.

Although how helpful it has been, especially lately, is debatable.

Tsukishima isn’t a person that crumbles outwardly, so he’s gone to work and to practice. He apparently even ran into Kuroo at some point.

But the thing here is that _outward_ doesn’t apply to Tobio anymore, the thing is that it hasn’t for a long time, probably even since they moved in together. So if Tsukishima is someone that crumbles inwardly, instead, Tobio has had a front row seat of it all. And he knows enough to understand what everything means, what a silent apartment and a blond head buried behind a bunch of museum records mean.

He hasn’t been imagining the tang of smoke wafting over to him every night.

“You talk like there’s something I can do.” He grumbles, and his eyebrow stings.

Miwa’s lip curls up in a way that makes it look like he’s wearing a wig and staring up into a mirror. “Well, if there’s anyone who can do anything about Kei-kun, I figure it should be you.” And that makes no sense, there are other people, so many other people, that he and Tsukishima have shared a particular topic of grievance for the last seven years doesn’t mean Tobio has that much power, any of the others could replace him.

“Just give him some cake or something if _you’re_ so worried,” he answers, and he has, at least, done all he’s ever been allowed to. “I’m not his keeper, and that bastard’s stubborn, he’ll be fine.”

Miwa huffs and goes back to his eyebrows. “We all know that,” she grumbles. “But haven’t you been thinking about it an awful lot, baby bro?”

_._

_._

Tobio likes to think that he _can_ be easygoing when dealing with the vast majority of the world’s population. The veracity of that statement would be somewhat controversial to most people who know him, but the thing is that he makes the clarification for a reason.

Because there are about ten people in the world that he can’t help but be contrary to.

Even gleefully so.

That’s what finds him staring up at a familiarity sloping, wooden ceiling again and this time he doesn’t even have alcohol for an excuse. Not that he needs one, being an adult that technically should be entitled to do whatever but still…

Hoshiumi is asleep, star fished on the bed, it’s early enough for that, the street lamps are still on and the amber from them washes the wing spiker’s hair into a faded orange. The resemblance isn’t uncanny, Hoshiumi’s nose is finer, his lips thicker and there’s eyeliner smudged over his cheek, but then again, Hinata is listening to something fast and Latin-sounding, probably jogging because eh e’s a crazy person. So the effect, though not the resemblance, _is_ uncanny.

And somehow it’s also just nostalgic, maybe a little regretful.

But nothing more, the reality is, Hoshiumi is the owner of this bed and Hinata is jogging, probably going home to his fiancé and Tobio- Tobio is fine with that, amber washing over white hair or not. Suddenly he feels a little lighter, suddenly, despite the bone deep exhaustion that speaks of the fact that the sun isn’t even out yet, Tobio wants to run, in a good way.

Nothing is stopping him, so he does, he stands up as Hoshiumi mumbles a sleepy “G’bye, see ya at practice-” gathers his clothes, and leaves. This whole thing is good, Tobio realizes, but it seems that’s all it’s ever going to be.

He came over after practice, so jogging in the clothes he’s wearing isn’t all that hard. Maybe he should be a little afraid, seeing as it’s still dark and he only sort of knows which way his apartment is from here, but the whipping of the wind on his cheeks feels good and the dull, bone deep ache that settles in his fingers from the cold is almost delightful. His feet pound on the wet pavement, and the Latin music fades into the background.

Tobio runs.

He reaches the apartment complex when it’s already light, just slightly sweaty from having kept up a comfortable, almost pleasurable pace. His calves do burn, though and he stops to stretch them out using the wall that houses the flowerbeds at the entrance. The crisp morning air is autumn in it’s essence, the stretch burns so good and Tsukishima is coming from the opposite direction, having, seemingly just gotten out of a cab, looking like he just might crumple to the floor in an undignified heap and not get up, any second.

His clothes are wrinkled, the laces of his right shoe are unbuttoned, his hair is standing up in all directions, soft barley-blond curls pointing up at the sky.

He has a huge bite mark on the side of his neck.

And if there were any doubts as to exactly _who_ made it, then the moment Tobio looks him in the eye, they dissipate.

Kuroo, always Kuroo.

Tsukishima doesn’t even stop to say anything, he knows what Tobio is seeing, he knows Tobio does too. He hums at Tobio, eyes void of emotion and makes a left onto the entrance of the complex. With his breath catching in his throat, Tobio follows, like every thing’s normal, even though part of him is trying to ask questions that shouldn’t even be that-

He’s no one’s keeper, whatever they may have done before. If Tsukishima wants to go sleep with Kuroo just to twist the knife deeper, Tobio has no influence in that decision, it’s that simple. They reach the elevator, and only then does his voice seem to make an appearance. “I was really wrong about Kuroo, huh? I figured you two would come out well on the other side.” No one has ever called Kageyama Tobio tactful, he doesn’t know what he expected.

At least Tsukishima just sighs sadly, in that way that makes Tobio smell salt. “Yeah,” his lower lip pushes . “You were wrong.”

The calm statement doesn’t catch Tobio off guard, it’s only expected. And yet, it feels like somewhere, in the middle of his torso, someone has dropped an ice cube. He swallows hard and stares straight ahead, red numbers shifting every few seconds in his peripheral vision. “The team I’m going to be with in Italy doesn’t have dorms," Tobio doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Or maybe he does, he’s distracted by the cold, twisting feeling inside him. “They said they recommended I start looking if I don’t want to be seeing high rents or a two-hour commute.”

Even without moving his head, he can see Tsukishima’s shoulders slump, just the slightest bit, defeat radiating off of him. “You'll be leaving earlier, won’t you?” It doesn’t even sound like a question, more like a statement the blond is trying to internalize.

Tobio wants- Tobio should-

He swallows hard, again, again, then breathes in deep. There’s just a floor to theirs so he shrugs still looking at the metal of the elevator doors. “Or I could just go for a few weeks and find one to rent even while I’m here, I have the money.” He does, he’s never been a big spender, and no matter how much he does use them, there’s a limit to the sports clothes one can buy and keep.

“Sure, King,” Tsukishima chuckles humorlessly. “Take a vacation.”

Was he leading them to this? Tobio just knows that there might be something to be tried and he feels compelled to. The doors open in front of them. “You should too.” He says, and then, not quite believing that he has, walks past Tsukishima, a hand that wants to be comforting brushing the other’s shoulder so softly that Tobio even thinks for a second that he’s missed Tsukishima completely. There, he’s done it.

Years of unknowingly walking the edge of a nice, and only now does he realize.

“I want to go to all the museums.” Tsukishima calls, catching up to him, and Tobio can just keep his eyes from widening too much as the drop of ice in his belly melts away.

Still, just as it does, a sick sort of satisfaction, something he never has felt before, claws it’s way up his throat and settles in the back of his tongue. It makes him keep his chin high, somehow giddy, somehow satisfied, and he neither understands it nor does he want to, it seems like one of those things he’s more at peace not knowing. “Whatever.” He swallows, but it doesn’t go away, and, most terribly, a voice in the back of his head, tells Tobio that that sick, selfish little thing has been there all along.

.

.

"And what about the museum?" Tobio asks, because Tsukishima looks too calm, too collected for how he's bee lately, like he's sitting smack in the eye of the hurricane, ready to be hit once more.

Bloodshot, citrine eyes look up at him. "They said yes too." He says calmly, gaze dropping back to his phone.

And something feels very, very wrong.

But it's the eye of the hurricane and Tobio got the call about the tickets this morning. Maybe they can skip over the rest of the hurricane, if it's by Friday, maybe they'll be fast enough.

Apparently, Tsukishima agrees, and Tobio is too startled to even tease him about doing something half-spontaneous for once in his life.

_._

_._

The thing that feels like one of the devils from folk tales that his older relatives used to tell him at night, doesn’t leave. Instead it takes up residence right there, in that point between the very back of Tobio’s tongue and his larynx, wicked and wanting, and ever strengthened when they land from the scale in Qatar, finally setting foot on Italian soil.

Tsukishima rubs his red rimmed eyes, large, long fingered hands almost aggressive, as if he’s trying to shed a whole worldview with the simple movement.

And Tobio can’t help but stare.

Knowing someone, seeing them for years at their highest highs and lowest lows, does give one a decent bit of perspective.

And his perspective right now… somehow he feels like he isn’t seeing one Tsukishima but a bunch of him overlapping, from hopeful to hopeless, from innocent to the man that arrived to their apartment complex barely a week ago with his neck full of hickeys, the telltale dogged look of a walk of shame and the smell of his ex-boyfriend on his jacket.

On top of them all is Tsukishima here, now, shaky, but brave and somehow standing strong, the change from when they boarded the plane so obvious that Tobio begrudgingly admits to it.

The blond squints at the bright sunlight, pulls the hoodie covering his arms tighter around him at the slightly chilly air of autumn. “Hey, you’re holding up the line.” someone calls in English from the back and Tobio turns to glare at them. Some guy in a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts -seriously?- and a toddler in tow, clearly on vacation

“What?! Are you late for something?” Tobio bites back, his accent is thick. He barely learned English in high school, and he’s just starting to realize that asking Tsukishima to come with him on this trip may just have been the right thing -and absolutely necessary- even if the whole Kuroo mess hadn’t happened.

After all, the blond has taken care of both his and Tobio’s bureaucratic shit since they moved in together -is he going to have to learn how to do taxes now? Another thing he hadn’t thought about- and he’s probably going to take over the apartment hunting too, if Tobio lets him.

Which he’s kind of counting on at this point, he’s been _trying_ to learn Italian, but he’s never actually _spoken_ it so-

What is strange, though, is that Tsukishima hasn’t scolded him for being loud yet, though, specially since Hawaiian-shirt guy is yelling from the back of the line. Tobio turns a curious gaze on him, but Tsukishima isn’t even looking at him, instead staring down at his phone with eyes that are both determined and unbearably regretful. His fingers play over the screen of something that looks a lot like an e-mail, but Tobio isn’t close enough to sneak a look, and something tells him that he shouldn’t anyways.

He does lift a hand to give the blond a slight push on the shoulder, but Tsukishima avoids it. “Just a second-” he grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on his fit. “What-” he’s distracted, the words don’t even have any heat to them. “-do _you_ have somewhere to be king?”

Tobio snorts, assessing, observing, it has been years since he has set to Tsukishima but he can read him decently all the same, somethings happening in that e-mail and-

Tsukishima presses the small blue button at the top of the screen, the movement precise and decisive, even though Tobio sees his shoulders hunch under the over sized hoodie that he wears. “Oi-”

Golden eyes look up, an emotion that Tobio can’t name swirling in their depths. “Think we can grab lunch before going to meet your team?”

It’s strange, because usually Tobio would snort about how Tsukishima just picked at his food in the plane and the fact that he eats like a high school girl, _usually._ But Tsukishima’s gaze is clear, and his eyes are just the right amount of pleading for it not to be pathetic and pitiful. Tobio, for a second, wants to say ‘anything’, he wants to say ‘go rest, I might get lost in Rome and die but who cares’, but those thoughts are so bizarre that he can’t even bring the words to his throat. He’s been indulging Tsukishima for so long anyways, the blond’s going to understand the same way Tobio always does. So he rolls his eyes, trains his face into a scowl that’s just a little mocking and takes a step forward. “If you faint in front of my new coaches it’s gonna look bad anyways.”

Tsukishima’s footsteps catch up to his. “I _could_ just go to the hotel and get myself room service, who’s the one that can _barely_ speak English again?” He says meanly, hands shoved in his pockets.

Tobio hums. “Hinata did just fine and he didn’t know _any_ English.”

“Yeah, well-” Tsukishima seems a little taken aback. Hinata, wherever he is, is being quiet, probably asleep or maybe after so much time Tobio is just _that_ good at tuning him out. “-he’s an exception, you could give him to the sharks and they'd teach that one to swim. You, on the other hand…”

The comment doesn’t go over Tobio’s head, but they’re walking forward now at least. They are on a tight schedule anyways, and his internal clock has about no idea what time it is or where they are, it is therefore screaming for a bed, so, hell, they might as well get something nourishing. “Oh, shut up or I’m volunteering you for practice.” Tobio snaps back and they walk in silence into the airport. When they arrive at the customs line, he catches a glimpse of something that looks all too greasy and filling beyond it. “Pizza?”

The blond’s head snaps to him, startled, as if something has just been absorbing his attention. “What-” his eyes follow Tobio’s gaze and undoubtedly spot the same restaurant. “Oh, sure.”

Then they do get called into customs, separately and, not for the first time, Tobio is itching to ask.

_._

_._

So far, the meeting with the coaches is going well.

Or it was.

They’re practical people, who show them around the places that matter -the gym, the showers, the locker room- and don’t start spewing things about the corporate mission of the team owners and stuff of that sort -as the person who first called Tobio was, god, that call was boring-. And they seem to know as much about Tsukishima as they do about Tobio, so they keep including him in the conversation and talking about the last game he played with the Frogs.

Which at least gets the blond to stop looking like he’s facing the world with a sword thrust though his back so Tobio almost manages to be grateful.

Almost being the operative word because immediately after they exchange these secretive smiles and lead them to an office . “It’s just a formality, seeing as you’re here already-” one of them says and Tobio feels himself stiffen, ready to call the bastard on his bullshit.

This better not be a goddamn photo-op, he’s slept for like five hours and it’s probably ass-o’clock in the morning in Japan and-

He has to blink twice when they go into the office.

And if _he_ has to, he can’t imagine what Tsukishima must be feeling. When Tobio turns to look at him he’s already fixed his expression from the shock that surely predated it before.

Because the thing is that, if for some bizarre reason that Tobio can’t imagine right now, someone were to ask him what Kuroo Tetsuro would look in ten to fifteen years, he’d simply point over to the man sitting behind the wooden desk, wearing a grin and eying Tsukishima like Tanaka might eye a piece of meat when starving, and say ‘ _that_ but but with a crooked mouth and mono lids’. And he would be right.

Before he knows it, Tobio has taken a step forward.

The man just smiles, amused. “Welcome.” He says. “Kageyama Tobio, I assume.” He says, standing up and offering Tobio a hand for him to shake reluctantly. Before he even has finished doing so, however, the hand is already being snatched from his grip and the man has turned to Tsukishima, eyes smoldering. “And Tsukishima Kei, right? You’ll forgive me, but you’re very recognizable. My name is Giulio Bianchi, I’m the Senior Coordinator for the Volleyball division of the Italian sports Bureau.”

Clearly taken aback by, well, _everything_ -and Tobio doesn’t blame him, it’s like some short wing spiker with orange hair named Saulo showed up jumping five feet into the air and proceeded to undress Tobio with his eyes- Tsukishima takes the hand offered to him. This time, Bianchi’s touch lingers. “Yes.” he says curtly, eyes narrowing. “I’m flattered, you’ll excuse me but I’ve never heard of you before.”

The devil behind Tobio’s tongue does a little dance, especially because Tsukishima’s carefully disdainful words are so perfectly -so smoothly- pronounced that even the coaches seem impressed.

Bianchi clears his throat, smile only widening. “That’s a shame, I’ll just have to make sure you do from now on.”

Tsukishima snatches his hand back.

The rest _is_ the kind of fluff talk that Tobio abhors, but it’s over soon enough. Tsukishima is clearly still a little shaken by his horribly bad luck, so he excuses them by citing the screaming baby on the flight and saying something about jet-lag.

It doesn’t stop Bianchi from asking for their numbers. “For contact purposes, we have a couple of events coming up in the next few days and we’d be thrilled to invite you two to them.” Or so he says, but when he does, he’s only looking at Tsukishima, and Tobio feels a little like he used to when Sugawara used to watch Sawamura doing squats.

Which is, to say, absolutely grossed out.

As they get into the cab, he looks to Tsukishima, expecting the blond to mirror his sentiment, or at least some mocking smugness, but the other is looking out of the window clearly faraway, hell, for all Tobio knows Tsukishima’s head is back in Sendai.

This time, the devil-twisted-thing screams.

Everything they’ve done, it always stayed within the walls of their shared apartment. Maybe this is how Tsukishima always looks after being hit on.

That last idea is laughable even a second after it comes into existence, there’s another thing that perfectly explains the blond’s mood and that one is the one that Tobio is going to bet on.

It’s always Kuroo after all, always Kuroo.

The fact that Tsukishima locks himself up in the bathroom for -literally- an hour as soon as they check into the hotel only confirms Tobio’s theory. At least it’s a comfortable theory, though, one he’s been used to for so long that it isn’t surprising or unsettling. He takes the time to loiter around the simple room, feeling restless, but also like there isn't much to do about everything that is happening at this very moment.

Things are just the way they are, and Tobio is no one to judge, really.

He does start getting concerned at a certain point, that Tsukishima might be dramatic enough to drown in like water that’s ten centimeter’s high. “Oi! How long are you gonna keep hogging the bathroom? If you leave me without any hot water I’m not-”

The door opens, and Tsukishima emerges, towel wrapped around his waist, feet bare, damp hair dripping water on the floor. “What? Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks.

Tobio shrugs. “I was just as much checking that you weren’t dead.” He huffs. “And you’re cleaning up the bathroom floor, that's gross.”

“Right-” Tsukishima snorts, something fond playing at the edge of his grin, and then he walks over to his bed, to rummage through the small suitcase he brought, . The towel slides down, just slightly, and then falls completely. It isn’t anything odd, and definitely nothing Tobio hasn’t seen before. At this point what’s weirder is the heat he can feel rising up his neck at the sight. They always have been comfortable changing in front of each other, for obvious reasons.

Although lately it hasn’t happened as much.

No, in fact since the day Tsukishima and Kuroo broke up it hasn’t happened at all.

The realization hits Tobio on his own way to the bathroom, with his hand clutching a towel. What was going on before, that wordless, spontaneous _thing_ that existed between him and Tsukishima for years, doesn’t anymore. It's gone with Tsukishima's stupid headset and his music.

He gets into the shower, movements more of an afterthought than anything else, muscles a little stiffer than they ought to be from just an uncomfortable airplane seat. Tsukishima would tell him to be rational, Miwa would tell him to analyze the situation, but neither of those seems to be working right now. If he’s rational, that whole thing ended _when_ Tsukishima got into a relationship, what happened the other night was just a leftover shred, nothing more. If he analyzes the situation, the fact that it did not sink in until now- It doesn’t make any sense because it’s obvious, because-

Somehow Tobio thought things might just be the same but they aren’t. 

And it’s not supposed to feel odd, it’s supposed to be absolutely obvious, the natural end to something that was never sustainable. It’s not like the nature of it was unknown to either of them.

He still hasn’t found any answers by the time he leaves the shower, skin scalded into easy redness.

As he’s drying his hair, Tobio spots something out of the corner of his eye. Tsukishima’s phone lies there, innocently gathering steam on the screen, the message notification light blinking a soft cyan blue.

Tobio decides that the thinking can wait, he slips into some boxers -because he’s decent, unlike _some_ people- and takes the phone out with him into the room.

The first thing he notices is that the balcony window has been throwing open, and he does because a cold breeze washes over him, making him shiver. The second is that he lacy, old-fashioned curtains are blowing into the room, looking like something out of a movie. The third is the smell of cigarette smoke, acrid and bitter and all too familiar after these past few weeks.

As for the fourth, it’s a tie, between how broad Tsukishima’s back is and how narrow and lonely it looks when he’s hunched over the metal railing of the balcony.

Apparently, he’s quiet, because Tsukishima doesn’t turn around, even though he can’t be listening to music as it was usual for him before the last few weeks. So Tobio just watches the stupidly surreal scene. A blond man with billowing hair, surrounded by billowing curtains, in lounge-wear that manages to look purposeful even though it’s everything but.

The cigarette smoke curls up above Tsukishima’s head, before it’s blown in and away, outside, Rome remains as it’s probably been forever, with minor alterations being built that don’t touch the essence of the city, the thing that makes the scene so absolutely heartbreaking that even Tobio’s chest protests it’s impact.

And Tobio, he-

His grip around the phone tightens. “You left your phone in there.”

Tsukishima doesn’t turn around, another plume of smoke rises, dissolves and his shoulders sag even more as he sighs. “Good, keep it.”

“What?” Tobio’s reply is a little outraged.

“Keep it, I’ll use yours.” Tsukishima does turn his head to the side this time, his long straight nose cutting Rome in a sloping shape. He snorts at the flabbergasted look that must be on Tobio’s face. “Unless you can’t handle a change in model. You never have been the most tech savvy.”

Plopping down on his bed, Tobio glares at him. “You’re so dramatic.” He looks up at the smooth ceiling. “Whatever, if your mom calls I’ll just tell her you went crazy on the plane and we had to put you down.”

Tsukishima laughs, a cutting bitter thing. “You wouldn’t.” And no, Tobio wouldn’t, not for the bastard, but for Auntie Tsukishima who has treated him like one of her own since the first time he ended up studying over at her house. “So, what apartments are we looking at tomorrow?” Tsukishima asks, turning back around, to his cigarette, to the powder blue sky and the reddening clouds.

Huffing out a laugh -because he just knows it’s going to drive the blond up the wall- Tobio shrugs. “I figured I’d take a look at the listings when we were already here. No reason to rush, we have two weeks.”

Now, Tsukishima turns fully, eyes wide in disbelief, fixed on Tobio’s face.

The demon on the back of his tongue laughs, delighted. Tobio does the same.


	2. (a trophy display of) Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not think I'd have this out so quick, but well, inspiration is weird for me  
> Next chapter is gonna be significantly later, though, like next Friday because I have a hell weekend so...  
> Still, this has some of my favorite scenes so far, and now we're very clearly deviating from NOSB  
> Hope you all like it  
> (oh, and Kuroo will be making an appearance next chapter >.<

“Hello, Tsukishima?” The thick accent to the voice makes Tobio want to groan, of course this guy would be calling Tsukishima.

For a second he wonders if he couldn’t just hang up… but then, he’s never been one to not let pettiness get the better of him. “Kageyama, actually.” Tobio responds, squinting at the wine showcase, shifting his weight between his feet, wincing at the burn in their soles.

“Oh, I was under the impression that I was calling Tsukishima Kei’s phone.” The man sounds a little frustrated. “This is Giulio Bianchi by the way, we met yesterday.”

“You are.” Tobio grimaces cursing his lackluster English. “He left it. I can take a message.”

“Yes, well, I was meaning to call you too.” The man rambles, suddenly sounding a lot less eager. “We’re having a small party for some teams and sponsors in the Union, and since you t- you are going to join us soon, I’d be honored if you came. Of course, Tsukishima is also invited.”

The guy’s pretty transparent, but then these kind of events are commonplace. “I’ll ask him.” Tobio says simply, a little smug at the way the man sighs.

“Make sure you do. We have a lot of talent coming from Japan this season, maybe you’ll run into some familiar faces.” The man clears his throat. “Is it alright if I text the details to this number?”

Tobio hums his assent. “We’ll let you know.” He finally just picks out a few bottles of wine as Bianchi drawls out a goodbye, it’s not like Tsukishima is picky, anyhow, even when he’s not going through the worst crisis Tobio has seen in his life -even worse than when Miwa dated that model and ended up dying her hair two different colors when they broke up-. He’s pretty sure at this point he could get the guy moonshine and he’d drink it.

He exits the store and turns his eyes up to the sky, it’s a washed-out blue, quickly darkening, and Tobio’s feet ache, but in this place Tobio feels a little lighter.

Hinata has been singing for a bit, but it’s faint, like when he was in Brazil, like a staticky radio turned down low.

That might be a good thing, and not only for him.

.

.

**_FROM: ME -17:35_ **

_Hey, you_ _’re still in Italy_

_Right?_

**_FROM: HOSHIUMI KOURAI -17:45_ **

_YEAH_

_You_ _’re here too aren’t you?_

_Are you going to that Bureau thing_

_Y_ _’know, like the party_

_Wakatoshi_ _’s going too_

.

.

The fact that he finds Tsukishima sprawled on a chair with a tub of gelato that’s already more than half-finished only confirms what Tobio was just thinking at the store.

It’s only a little pitiful, and only because Tobio knows the blond relatively well.

Other people would say he’s taking the breakup with grace, Tobio looks at the container and thinks better of it. “What? Do I have gelato on my face?” Tsukishima asks, turning his tired eyes to Tobio. “And are we trying to end up in the hospital?” his gaze drifts down to the plastic bag hanging from Tobio’s hand. He just now notices he’s bought way too much wine for just two people, he did pick out the wine while talking to the Binky guy so…

“We have two weeks.” Tobio says, setting the bag down on the bed and grabbing one of the reds. “I’m gonna need it if you insist on dragging me around looking at rocks.” He slides into the other chair, eyes on the billowing curtains -it’s like Tsukishima just can’t stand to close them, Tobio froze his ass off last night-, undoing the seal and opening the bottle as he goes. He holds it out to Tsukishima wordlessly and the blond smiles a little as he take sit and brings it to his mouth.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes at him. “You just can’t appreciate art.” He huffs. “Why do you look constipated?”

“There’s a party-” Tobio starts, frowning like he’s tasting something bitter, he takes a swig of the wine. “-did you give me your phone to ward off that Binky guy?” Tsukishima, in the middle of a spoonful of gelato, only raises an eyebrow at Tobio. ‘Of course not’ he’s saying, he’s not a coward. “He invited you to some party, apparently it’s a big thing, Ushijima’s going.”

“Invited me?” Tsukishima asks, setting down the container of gelato in a low table between them. “Or you?”

“I do have your stupid phone.” Tobio feels his lip curl up. “He told me to come too, but I bet he hasn’t called mine.”

Tsukishima reaches daintily behind himself, grabbing the phone from where it’s been set down on the bed. “Nope,” he answers, face bathed in the soft glow that the phone projects in the darkening room. “Just Miwa asking if you’ll still be in Japan for your birthday.” He turns of the scene and looks up, amber eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking?”

And Tobio stops in his tracks. Tsukishima, being who he is, most likely _wouldn_ _’t_ want to go to a party hosted by an association he isn’t even a part of and probably wont be. “I don’t know-” he shrugs, maybe Tsukishima’s been just the right amount of pitiful. “I figured you might want to go.”

The blond rolls his eyes at him, a little amusement displayed at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me, the known extrovert.” His eyes slide up and down Tobio’s form, and restlessness feels him. Maybe even telling Tsukishima about the party- No, sad as he is, Tsukishima can both make his own decisions and take care of himself.

Tobio is just… here.

“You gave me the first sip of the wine.” There’s no echo in the room, but the words manage to echo anyways. Tsukishima’s eyes are amused, interested. “ _You_ want to go, why do you want to go?”

Tobio stiffens, that isn’t it at all. He’s not opposed to events like that, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy them. If it’s just about getting drunk he can easily skip the formal wear and buy a bottle of something fancier, stay here, where he’s more comfortable. He feels heat rise to his ears. “I do- I may-” he takes a deep breath, remembering the text he received just outside of the door. “I slept with Hoshiumi.” There’s nothing else he _could_ say -besides, even if he tried to articulate those reasons he doesn’t understand, Tsukishima would take it as pity, and the only thing worse than a sad Tsukishima is an offended one-, the blond won’t judge him, so whatever.

Tsukishima’s lips purse, his brow furrows in confusion. “You had that well hidden.” Tobio scoffs, not really, not at all. “But what does that have to do with this party thing?”

At least he seems to bite, it’s not like Tobio is lying. “He’s trying out for a club in Milan-” Tobio continues. “I just texted him and he is coming and, uh-” he doesn’t know what else to say, and lying isn’t his strong suit, it’s not surprising that the next thing that comes out of his mouth is just the wrong one. “And that Binky guy was pretty insistent.”

Tsukishima glares at him. “What are you implying Kageyama?” Tobio just shrugs, they’ve never judged each other if he doesn’t remember wrong that time he did _that_ with Ushijima, it was the blond that just asked if it was any good and said nothing more. Tsukishima just looks at him for a couple more seconds before the rest of what Tobio just said seems too dawn on him and he throws his head back, a spoonful of pink gelato halfway to his mouth, and starts giggling. It turns to full-on laughing soon enough.

And Tobio just watches, fondness coiling in his stomach.

“And here I thought we were here because I was on the verge of a mental breakdown.” Tsukishima gasps out another laugh. “You’re just stalking the shr- that crush of yours.”

It’s the first time he laughs for real in a while, he’s doing a lot better than Tobio expected, the iron under the stingy exterior showing.

He’s staring, he realizes, and if his face was burning before, then Tobio must be looking a lot like a tomato now, he blurts out the next thing that pops into his head. But at least Tsukishima, sugar-high and wine drunk, with his cheeks flushed a healthy pink, follows along, leading them down their usual path of friendly banter to-

Well, to just that. Tobio snatches the bottle back. This is fine. This all should be fine.

.

.

Kei eyes the refreshments table, at least there’s good variety. He tilts the glass of champagne to his lips and his eyes scan the crowd. Kageyama and Hoshiumi aren’t hard to find, the shock of white hair about twenty centimeters lower than everyone else's heads is a pretty decent beacon. And they’re looking quite cozy.

He feels his teeth grind, stupid Kageyama, trying to make it like coming to this thing was somehow for Kei’s benefit.

Hopefully if he gets laid he won’t suggest Kei sleep with the Kuroo look-alike.

It’s not like he _hasn_ _’t_ thought about it, but that’s none of Kageyama’s business and also, really? Of all things Kei never expected the setter to try and imply that, especially with their past history, it would have made a lot more sense for Kageyama to-ugh, Kei is getting more annoyed by the second. He drains what’s left of his champagne glass and reaches for another. Who cares? This is his mental breakdown vacation-thing -Yamaguchi’s words, not his- he can drink a little too much and damn the consequences.

Besides, Kuroo is still singing, somewhere in the back of his head, and though it’s bearable… though it’s actually more bearable than it was back in Japan, Kei just wants him to shut up for a bit. There should be a way that doesn’t involve him re-acclimating to the stupid pills that had him all but bed bound the last time. He glares at the shock of white hair across the crowd once more, fixing the collar of his cream-colored shirt as he goes. “Tsukishima.”

The voice is familiar, yes, and the pronunciation is correct, but when Kei turns to meet Ushijima Wakatoshi’s eyes he’s still quite surprised. “Ushijima-san, it’s been a while.” More than a while, actually, Kei realizes, he never has been one to go to Kageyama’s practice and he’s only ever showed up to his games once in a while, busy as he was with both college and volleyball. And even the few times he went, he never interacted much with Ushijima. “I’m surprised you remember my name.” He continues, smile turning a little sardonic.

“Of course, you’re Kageyama’s roommate.” The man answers bluntly. He’s wearing an actual, fitted suit, just a notch more formal than the rest of the party-goers. He stands out in general, and like this, even more so. “And you’re particularly good for someone from a team that just got on division 1-” He looks down at his free hand, flexing and unflexing the fingers. “It is a shame we never got to play each other.” He pauses, as if to think. “But then, you are here. Have you been scouted to play for the European league?”

Anyone else might take the comment about his team as an insult, but after four years of hearing how Ushijima’s bluntness generally got him in awkward situations, Kei knows it’s not meant like one. He studies the older man through narrowed eyes. Ushijima hasn’t even changed his hairstyle since high school, the only remarkable difference is that he’s gotten even buffer, to the point where even though the suit is perfectly tailored to not be obscenely tight it can’t hide the obvious power of the muscles underneath. “No, no-” Kei shakes his head, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his throat, more because he’s just caught himself staring and it’s the first time since- well since everything crumbled with Kuroo that he’s even thought of anyone else like _that_. “-I’m helping Kageyama look for apartments, his family figured he needed a babysitter and I was bribed with gelato.”

A small smile plays over the corner of Ushijima’s mouth. “ It must be nice to have a friend who would come all the way here for that. You like sweets then?”

Kei rolls his eyes at the man. “It’s not like Rome is hard on the eyes.” He says. “And yeah, you could say that.”

“That is interesting.” Ushijima’s gaze travels up and down Kei’s body, alright, at least he isn’t the only one staring. “My soul mate is studying to be a chocolatier-”

“I’m sorry, may I cut in?” Now, that voice _is_ familiar, Kei heard it just yesterday, hell, he was annoyed by it yesterday. He turns to the side to find Giulio Bianchi, in a semi-formal white suit that looks so dandy and expensive, it makes Kei a little irritated. “Giulio Bianchi, we met the other day.” He says, holding a hand out to Kei, who shakes it a little hastily and then he looks towards Ushijima. “I don’t believe we’ve met in person, Ushijima, it’s a pleasure.”

The green haired man stiffens slightly. “Likewise,” he shakes Bianchi’s hand.

“I remember,” Kei steps in to say. He mostly remembers being pretty jet-lagged and irritated, it’s not even Bianchi’s fault, he just very unfortunately happens to remind Kei a little too much of the very thing he’s here to try and get over. “Thank you for inviting me to this, by the way, seeing as I’m not even in the League.”

The man’s smirk only gets wider. “That’s actually something I really wanted to talk to you about specifically… Hmm, in private actually. Will you give me a minute of your time Tsukishima-” Bianchi says, a smirk on his lips, lifting his champagne flute like he’s making a toast. “-or may I call you Kei?”

Bianchi’s intentions are clear as water -Kei knows it’s impossible but he could swear he hears Kageyama laughing somewhere-, this isn’t about Kei’s volleyball career, or at least not _just_ about that. And if he’s honest with himself, Kei might just be a little attracted to the guy. He’s an adult and he’s single, no one could judge him if he went. It might even be a nice distraction. Except, it would be like saying Kageyama was right -which makes Kei more than a little annoyed because who is Kageyama to tell him who to sleep with?- and all things considered, might feel a little pathetic, like he was quite literally using a stand in for Kuroo.

And Kei might be feeling like half his internal organs are missing and the like the soles of his feet have had nails hammered into them, but he’s not going to feel pathetic, that’s beyond what he can tolerate.

Ushijima shifts on his feet, he and Kei exchange a loon. The implication in the older man’s words hasn’t gone past either of them. Kei isn’t much of an expressive person, but neither is Ushijima and he seems to understand the twitch of Kei’s eyebrows. “That might be disrespectful.” Ushijima interjects, bluntly as always.

“I agree.” Kei says soberly, and then when Bianchi starts to apologize. “I’m not offended. If you like we can agree on sometime this week? I’m already in the middle of a conversation.”

The man’s cheeks go dark with embarrassment, and Kei has to suppress the urge to giggle. “Of course, does Wednesday work for you?”

For a second, Kei pretends to think. “I am technically on vacation. So yes, you can text me the details, I don’t know Rome well enough yet to just get anywhere of the top of my head.”

“Well, here’s to hoping that’ll change soon.” Bianchi says, quickly composing himself and raising his glass. Kei and Ushijima imitate him, neither taking his eyes off the man. “I’ll leave you two to that conversation then.” He says, to his credit, with a bright grin on his face. If he’s crestfallen about Kei’s rejection, he doesn’t show it, but Kei really doubts he’s meeting the guy on Wednesday, implicit League invitations and all.

Besides, Kei literally just signed a new contract with the Frogs, no one here would want him enough to actually _buy_ that contract, would they? He looks back to Ushijima, whose face is as stoic as ever. “He is interested in you, it seems.” The older man says, now that Bianchi’s white suit is a respectable distance away. “I can’t blame him.”

It hits Kei like a punch to the gut, he can feel his cheeks flaming red, there’s hardly anything to be done in the face of _that_ kind of honesty, and, this being Ushijima, he doubts the older man is messing with him either. “I-” he hesitates. “You were saying… about your soul mate?” It’s a legitimate question, and probably cutting off what Ushijima was just implying, which is just as well because Kei is not going to mess with someone else's soul mate. He can only imagine how much it would hurt, if it already hurts this much when the whole disaster with Kuroo was _technically_ his fault.

-for a second, he thinks back to the e-mail he sent the other day, the one there has been no answer to-

“Ah Tendou, you might remember him from high school, he was also a middle blocker.” And of course he does remember, who forgets hair like that? “He’s studying to be a chocolatier in Paris, I’m not particularly fond of sweets, but his are delightful.”

Relaxing a little, Kei grabs another flute of champagne. “So did you move to be closer? It must be hard to be that far away.”

Ushijima narrows his eyes at Kei looking a little confused. “Not really, we keep in touch. We aren’t in a relationship, so it isn’t so complicated.”

“Oh-” Kei looks away. “I assumed, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ushijima waves him off. “He isn’t interested in romance, and we’re still best friends and soul mates, there is nothing odd about it. How about you? I don’t recall seeing you with anyone other than Kageyama, and I know that-” he gestures actually at a spot in the air beside his shoulder, right about where Hinata’s head might be, were he here.

Rationally, it was coming, _rationally._ Kei’s stupid heart has been anything but rational as of late, though so it still seems to curl in on itself like it wants to disappear into thin air and he has to take a deep breath before pinning Ushijima with a smile that must look faker than some of the toupees he’s seen on the few Bureau members that mill around the patio. “Things didn’t work out with mine.” he says, feeling like it’s happening all over again, like he’s shattering all over again. “I guess all the cheesy advertisements were far from true.”

“Indeed.”

There’s a minute of awkward silence, I which Kei is doing his best with what seems to be an empty ribcage and biting cold races down his arms. It’s the first time he’s admitted it out loud to someone other thank Kageyama, even Yamaguchi had to kind of guess what happened.

It’s so… pathetic. Kei isn’t pathetic. Kei takes a deep breath, a bloom of anger sparking into a tiny flame right at the center of his frozen chest. Just as he does, he feels eyes on him, Ushijima’s to be more exact. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” The older man says quietly.

Gathering all his confidence and draping it over the hurt, Kei smirks. “I never said it was.” he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tilting his head so that even though he’s a little taller than Ushijima, he’s peering at the man through his eyelashes. “Say, were you planning on staying late at this thing? There’s nothing interesting happening.”

His act must be good, because then Ushijima smiles. ”I could be persuaded to leave early if you came with me.”

It’s obvious, really obvious. And Kei wants to.

He has every right to.

“Do you have a hotel room?”

.

.

This _is_ fine.

Tobio spots them from across the the patio-balcony thing that the party has been set up in. He’s talking to Hoshiumi, who apparently is very good with languages and has already picked up some conversational Italian. He’s trying to guide Tobio through the pronunciation, laughing all the while.

And that’s when Tobio spots them.

He hasn’t been keeping tabs on Tsukishima, the heavens know the blond would notice and get pissy, so it’s the first time he sees the blond since they split up -the fact that almost everyone here is around their height and there are quite a few blond heads bobbing around in the crowd has probably helped, it’s nothing like back in Japan-. The blond is standing between the refreshments table and one of the smooth columns that help give this place the whole fancy, rich look.

In front of them are two people, one that Tobio recognizes in a second, having been around the man often for the past four years. Ushijima, unlike most other people in the party, is wearing a full suit, looking as serious as ever. Tobio would wave, but he’s not looking this way.

The other person is someone Tobio doesn’t recognize at first, but he isn’t so nearsighted and the full head of black curls is a surefire sign even before the man turns his irritating face to the side -to talk to Ushijima, it seems- and Tobio can tell it’s that Binky guy from the Bureau. What’s worse, Tsukishima doesn’t seem to be trying to find a way to give him the slip, although he _is_ standing a lot closer to Ushijima than he is to that guy.

“-pretty surprised you brought him.” Hoshiumi’s voice tears him from his thought.

His whole justifying he and Tsukishima coming to this thing with the fact that he’s slept with Hoshiumi in the past landed him here. Not that he doesn’t like Hoshiumi, but somehow he’s managed to unintentionally convince Tsukishima that he has _feelings_ for the guy which is going to be a pain. He would have come over to say hello anyways even if Tsukishima didn’t practically force him to, but for some reason, Tobio is feeling like things are starting to get out of his hands.

It’s all really contradictory, he knocks back what’s left of his champagne flute, having had hangovers for the past couple of days isn’t helping either, it’s definitely not helping his headache.

“We’re looking for an apartment.” Tobio answers, turning back to the white haired man.

“Oh?” Hoshiumi smiles slyly, arms crossing over his chest after he lays his champagne flute in a passing waiter’s platter. “Together?”

Tobio squints at him, at least until he realizes that this words _were_ a little misleading. “He’s helping me, I mean-” he feels his upper lip curl a little in annoyance. “-though so far he’s dragged me to more museums than apartments.”

Hoshiumi laughs loudly. “Figures, he does look like that kind-” his face goes serious for a second. “- for a second I almost thought someone had snagged you, you’re kinda notorious for being all-” he makes a face that’s so serious it’s comical.

“Huh?” Tobio can’t help it, he glances at where Tsukishima was but he can’t find the blond’s head anymore.

“You don’t date dude.” Hoshiumi says, a hand on his forearm bringing Tobio back to the conversation. “Not that _I_ _’m_ complaining, but-”

“I’m focused on volleyball-” Tobio defends, he knows the truth is a little more complex, knows for the longest time he was in no state to date and he had volleyball and Tsukishima for company… and other things, But that’s not something he discusses with people he’s barely hooked up with twice so he shrugs. “- it’s not ideal.”

Hoshiumi laughs again, grin spreading wider. “Ha! Don’t tell me that, remember all those late practices?” he asks and the hand on Tobio’s forearm suddenly feels heavier. “I don’t mind having a little fun from time to time, though you know that already.” The man’s smile is leading, his hand is warm, still there, and Tsukishima is gone already, he realizes.

Tobio knew that something like this might happen, since things shifted between them, and with how… with how Tsukishima can be. So the squeamish feeling that fills him doesn’t have a justification, at least none come up of the top of his head. He smiles down at Hoshiumi, dragging his own attention back to the conversation. The other’s yellow eyes are fixed on him and for a second Tobio feels like the bubbles of the champagne are fizzling everywhere in his body. “What? Are you saying you wanna get out of here?”

He can’t deny, he’s had fun the other times.

The other man pushes up on his toes, eyebrows rising in a pleased gesture. “It’s a boring party, and I know a lot of not-boring things I’d like to be doing instead.”

Hoshiumi’s hand is at his shoulder now, Tobio grins. As they walk out, he scans the crowd once more although he knows he’s not going to find Tsukishima. Not behind the columns or by the stone railing or even sitting on the hill -though he can’t see that from him- as if to make it even clearer, his phone -Tsukishima’s phone- buzzes then, with a message from Tsukishima himself saying he’s going back to the hotel.

Hotel. Ha! As if he’s going to let some half-stranger into his space.

As if Tobio didn’t know him better than that.

.

.

**_FROM: PHONE-STEALING JERK -11:32_ **

_I_ _’m going back to the hotel._

_You have fun with Hoshiumi._

**_FROM: ME-11:37_ **

_Don_ _’t lose my phone_

_I_ _’m not sleeping over there either_

_whtv_

_Auntie said she_ _’d call tomorrow_

_I_ _’m not covering for your ass_

_._

_._

The high ceiling of the hotel room is smooth and pristine, the stucco applied so perfectly that it manages to look soft, creamy even.

Ushijima has gone to fetch a towel, and Kei’s rubbing his reddened wrists.

It’s not like he didn’t ask for it, didn’t push for it, harder, faster ‘hold me down and-’ yeah, it’s not like Kei wasn’t asking for it from the start.

Even the dull ache of the setting bruises is pleasant in it’s own way, and that deep, sordid pain was what Kei was craving ever since he saw Ushijima’s shoulders under the suit. This doesn’t feel like _that_ time, in fact, though the room is a little chilly, it’s all actually pretty nice.

“Do those hurt?” Ushijima says, at the foot of the bed, face only lit by the soft amber glow of a bedside lamp. “I’m sorry, I must have grabbed you too hard.”

Kei would expect a cheeky grin after those words from anyone else, but Ushijima -in all of his naked glory- looks actually worried. Kei scoffs. “I’m not that fragile.” He rolls his eyes, taking the wet towel the other is offering without a seconds hesitation. “And then I did ask for it.”

“Very well, I’ll keep that in mind.” The older man says, walking around the bed and very primly laying down on the other side. There’s a small smile on his face when he turns to look at Kei. “You did, quite loudly if I recall.”

Feeling his cheeks color, Kei busies himself with the mess on his stomach, his body is getting colder by the second and Ushijima doesn’t seem to be initiating anything else. Is he supposed to leave now?

He has never been much for one-night stands. They always seemed too messy, too awkward, even risky in certain cases.

And then, if Kageyama was in the mood and so was Kei, the past few years it simply seemed easier to go home. His own bed either right under him or ten steps away, no need to sneak out like a bandit into the night, no need to act the way he found himself forced to on that day he went to give Kuroo his things.

Going there wasn’t a mistake, Kei should pick out every item in the room even when not looking at them and it hurt.

But maybe sleeping with Kuroo wasn’t the best idea, not when all it did was tear the scabs from the wounds and pour some lemon in for good measure. And Kuroo’s words back then definitely made for good, burning acid.

Still, this doesn’t feel quite like that.

It actually feels pretty alright -the sex was definitely better than just _alright_ -, if a little embarrassing because Ushijima is as blunt with his staring as he is with his words, and Kei has yet to decide if that’s a wholly bad thing. Mostly because those unwavering eyes trailing down his body, and the way Ushijima looks like an underwear ad even from this close up are slowly but surely getting him hard again.

I thought you were in a team in Sweden,” Kei turns on his side, knees coming up to his chest. “Is everything that close over here.”

“I guess Kageyama told you.” Ushijima answers, meeting Kei’s gaze. “To a degree, but we were much closer, at a practice game. It’s not close enough to just come over here on a whim.”

“Ah-” Kei breathes out, a little relieved for some reason. He’s not cool headed enough to just see a guy he’s randomly slept with every other week, he still doesn’t know how Kageyama did it being int he same team as Ushijima. “I figured.”

Of course, he saw Kageyama everyday these last few years, but he’s _Kageyama_ and Kei saw him _everyday_ , if there had been any window for awkwardness it might have killed one of them. But that’s an exception to the norm if there’s ever been one. Even if his breakup with Kuroo hadn’t been the shit-show it was, Kei doubts he’d be comfortable looking the guy straight in the eye for work related endeavors. At least for a little while.

He’s about to start getting up and saying his goodbyes, no other topics to make conversation coming to mind. But the Ushijima speaks. “If you get offered a posting over here, will you take it?”

Kei laughs. ”I’m in the middle of my contract back in Japan, I really doubt anyone’s going to want to buy a contract for someone like me.” It may have sounded a little like something like that was going on earlier, but the more time passes, the more Kei realizes that’s a very fanciful and far-fetched thing to think.

“But if they did?” Ushijima pressed, still looking at Kei like that.

And Tsukishima Kei does _not_ have an answer. Or rather, half of him does, and the other half is just scoffing at the thought and refusing to even think about it. “I might, I don’t know.” It’s not like -aside from the contract- there’s anything actually stopping him, his family would be upset, but they would be fine and as soon as Akiteru and Saeko gave his mother a grandchild she’d forget all about being mad. And the rest of what he has are friends, one of whom is moving anyways and another that already has. “I can’t say I’d mind living in a pace like this, it’s aesthetically pleasing if nothing else.”

Ushijima looks at him with a furrowed brow, face full of confusion, and Kei scoffs out a laugh before stretching his arms above his head and groaning at the slight sting between his thighs. Of course, this is one of the Monsters he’s talking about, and his response that did not incorporate any volleyball elements is probably incomprehensible. “Like I said-” That voice purrs, much closer than it was previously. “I’d really like to face you across the net again.”

Kei opens his eyes just as Ushijima’s large hand splays over his stomach, he can feel the heat radiating from the other, see his handsome face out of the corner of his eye, that’s how much closer he is, and when he glances down he’s pleased to find that he’s not the only one interested in a round two. “I can say the same-” Kei smirks turning his head to the side to meet the spiker’s eyes the spark of lust in both their gazes igniting a veritable fire. “-it might be interesting… at another time.” He leans into the hot, heavy touches. “Right now you should fuck me again.”

Ushijima does, and it’s just as good as the first time, Kei’s wrists and thighs end up with constellations squeezed into them.

But its worth it, it’s good, it’s the best he’s ever felt in a month.

And on the cab on his way back to the hotel, with rays of cold sunlight escaping the horizon line, the silence isn’t so deafening for once.

_._

_._

The image of Tsukishima leaning over the balcony railing and smoking like he wants to make trouble for himself might be starting to get old.

At least _this_ time, Tobio doesn’t have a hangover.

But he also thinks he slept for like, two hours, so he’s still pissed off at the blond.

He pushes himself up, rubbing the crustiness off his eyes and yawning. The smell of smoke is -gloriously- faint, Tsukishima must be leaning over that railing like he wants to tip over and die. Tobio stands up, noting that he’s only in his boxers -the casual button up he wore last night did not survive the night in very good shape- and walks over, keeping his footfalls soft until he’s standing right behind Tsukishima. His toes feel the icy kiss of the metallic structure of the balcony, and Tobio shivers. “You know it’s no use trying to not wake me up and then lighting one of those things.” He grumbles and Tsukishima turns, eyes wide like a startled deer’s.

“I didn’t try to not wake you up.” He hisses, quickly composing himself. “You sleep like the dead, I bet you could sleep through a hurricane.”

Tobio hums, bumping his hip none too gently into the blond’s. “Well you woke me up.”

“No, I didn’t,” Tsukishima counters, wincing slightly. “I’ve been back for an hour.”

Tobio takes note of the small gesture, and not only that. His eyes, used to scanning others for both strength and weakness quickly take in what the haze of sleep was just hiding. The dark circles under Tsukishima’s eyes, his bloodshot eyes, the peek of a surprisingly dark bruise from under the cuff of the ivory shirt he left in last night and which he still wears. “Did a number on you, didn’t he?” Tobio can’t help saying.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen a little, usually Tobio wouldn’t say anything, he has no idea what he does but the words are out of his mouth already. “Since when do you care?” Tsukishima asks, a little of that defensive meanness that he uses when he can’t act indifferent seeping into the tone. “Hoshiumi didn’t hold back either.” He observes, eyes dragging down Tobio’s chest.

And the truth is that, well, Hoshiumi _didn_ _’t_ so he can’t even say something mean back. “I can’t believe you got all pissy when I teased you with Binky and then went and-”

“Bianchi,” Tsukishima corrects. “And it wasn’t him, I gave him the slip.”

For a second, Tobio just stares, He’s being uncharacteristically prying, and Tsukishima is being uncharacteristically quiet. But then, there’s only one other person eh saw the blond talking to last night. “Ushijima?” He asks, as Tsukishima blows out a lungful of air, one that Tobio is unfortunate enough to breathe in as well.

He doesn’t smoke, and the smoke feels like a piece of cloth, doused in alcohol and lit up right in the back of his nose. Tsukishima chokes out a laugh, Tobio coughs, staring at him, even though the blond has the decency to tug him to the spot he’d been previously occupying and setting himself on the other side of the balcony so Tobio isn’t downwind anymore.

“You didn’t think I was stupid enough to sleep with a lookalike, right?” Tsukishima says, before Tobio has had time to catch his breath. “I mean I was already stupid enough to sleep with Kuroo again, there’s a limit.” It’s all said softly, around mouthfuls of smoke that rise like plumes that play at looking as smooth as velvet.

But it’s all also said with a voice so hollow that Tobio is surprised there isn’t an echo inside of Tsukishima’s mouth. “At least Ushijima’s straightforward.” Tobio agrees, still a little breathless. The way that Tsukishima’s profile cuts into the early morning sky isn’t helping, not with the smoke and the breeze and Rome behind him. He may be infuriating most of the time, but this place suits him. “Besides Binky has been texting your phone with locations, I thought you guys had a date.”

Tsukishima scoffs, giving the street under them an incredulous look. “He said he wanted to talk about me seriously.” He says. “About volleyball-” his lips purse, and for a second Tobio doesn’t really understand. Tsukishima isn’t the one moving. “-I mean it was probably all him trying to pick me up, but I had to promise to meet him on Wednesday to get him off my back last night.” He takes a last drag of the cigarette and puts it out on the metal of the railing. He turns to meet Tobio’s bewildered gaze. “In broad daylight, in a public place don’t channel my Nii-san.”

Tobio rolls his eyes at him. “I was not, and you don’t have to give me any explanations.”

Isn’t that what this friendship is all about?

“You asked.” Tsukishima shrugs, but Tobio didn’t, did he? Ugh, he needs to sleep some more.

“What if he does offer you a spot?” He asks, remembering suddenly that there’s a spot open in Ali, he overheard that the day they arrived.

But it’s unlikely.

Very unlikely, as is the chance of Tsukishima saying yes at all, Tobio knows this isn’t in his plans at all he has the job at the museum and- he usually wouldn’t even consider it. But he hasn’t said anything either. “You’d have to quit the museum.” Tobio says, because he doesn’t want to accuse.

Tsukishima gives him a small, secret smile, hand going for the lighter that’s precariously balanced on the top of the railing. “Already did.” He says forlorn, like he’s too tired to be embarrassed, or sad, or to feel cornered. “I would have, I think even if Kuroo and I-”He looks away, at the building in front of them. “I quit the museum before you even called your agent to book the plane.”

He’s looking straight in Tobio’s eyes, and Tobio freezes. It isn’t even about the museum, because even without that if Tsukishima was really opposed to the idea he would have already said no, probably wouldn’t even have agreed to meet Bianchi. The possibility feels overwhelmingly real and solid all of a sudden, Tobio feels like he could touch it if he knew where to reach out to. “Good for you, they were making you a mascot.” He grumbles, still feeling stunned, still feeling like -for the first time in about three years- he doesn’t understand Tsukishima at all.

His words do break the moment, though, Tsukishima just laughs in that hollow, tired tone and crouches, hand going for the cigarette box that lies on the floor. Without even knowing why he does it, Tobio finds himself stepping forward, swiping a hand through the man’s hair in a far from gentle way, messing it up even more than it already has been. “Go shower, you stink.” He glares down at the crouching man, voice a lot more the way that it’s on the court than his usual tone, a rarity between them.

Tsukishima looks up, a frown twisting his face. “And you don’t? When you didn’t even manage to put on pants before you crashed.”

“Not like I just walked out of a bonfire, no. And I’ll sleep in my underwear if I want to. ” Tobio huffs, turning around, but not before his eyes catch another glimpse of the finger shaped imprints around Tsukishima’s wrists. “Lets sleep in.” He says as he enters the room.

He doesn’t look back then, just pulls back the covers on his bed and slips inside. But he still hears Tsukishima’s soft footsteps, still smells him when he walks by before the bathroom door clicks shut.

Tobio’s stomach churns, maybe he is hungover after all.

.

.

So Kageyama is mad about something, that’s perfectly clear.

Doesn’t make it any less ridiculous, Kei’s almost embarrassed for the scene they’re making and really thankful he just made a bunch of appointments with apartment owners instead of contacting a real estate agency. The only one that has had to deal with the setter’s general crustiness and dislike of literally everything they see for the past two days has been here.

And alright, maybe Kei’s fuse is a little shorter than usual these days, but- “I don’t like the windows, they’re too narrow.” Coming from someone who did not realize their bathroom in Tokyo had a little window to let the steam out for six months after they moved in, kind of just blows right past it.

“It was the floors with the last one-” Kei grumbles. “It’s the windows with this one, do you have a list?”

The apartment they’re standing in is -to Kei’s opinion- just right, ceramic floors that are easy to clean, modern doors and windows and an open-plan space that seems pretty easy to keep clean. He doesn’t even know why Kageyama keeps complaining, they both know he’s going to spend like less than a third of his time in wherever he chooses.

“It’s too dark.” Kageyama shrugs “-and it’s right in front of the jungle gym outside.”

Kei takes a glance out of the window, indeed, it’s lunchtime so the play area is deserted but he can only imagine the racket they must make in the afternoon.

At least that’s a complaint he can get behind. “Oh, fine, I think we have time to see this one-” he points at a red dot on the old-fashioned map he put down all their stops for today in. “- before I have to meet Bianchi for lunch.”

Kageyama stops flicking the leaves of the fern and looks back at him. “I thought you’d decided you weren’t taking a new job.”

It was something Kei said the other night, sleepy and so full of the most delicious pizza he’s ever had, now he’s not so sure, but Kageyama seems to have taken it to heart. In fact he sounds just a little resentful now. “I agreed to meet with him, I’m being polite.” He huffs. “Besides what do you care? If you keep this hissy fit up you’re gonna end up without somewhere to sleep, and I don’t have any more vacation time.”

“Quit acting like I’m gonna die” Kageyama hisses. “-that self-important act is getting old.”

It’s the first time since, well, since the day Kageyama picked him up at the train station that he’s been so openly hostile. Over the years they’ve settled into a rhythm and this does occasionally happen, but banter is one thing and this is another. And lately Kei’s fuse really _is_ a little short. “Well you can go see that apartment on your own then.” He grits out, crossing his arms over his chest. “The owner just barely speaks English, good luck not getting scammed.”

It was coming, he knows, even if the outburst is a little more forceful than Kei is used to. When they step out of the apartment complex Kageyama does tear the map from Kei’s hands with an exasperated sigh and resolutely starts power-walking in the opposite direction that Kei dose.

He _could_ call out to him and tell the setter that he’s taking the long way around, but Kageyama isn’t stupid, eventually he’s bound to figure it out.

With nothing else to do, Kei starts walking slowly over to the restaurant he agreed to meet Bianchi in, glancing at his phone every few minutes to make sure he’s going in the right direction. He does have a bunch of time, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be getting lost.

The streets he walks through are significantly less scenic than the ones he and Kageyama spent exploring the first week they spent here, the buildings are more modern, clearly this is a part of the city that dates back much nearer than the rest. It’s not that it isn’t pleasing to the eye the palette of oranges and reds the falling leaves are in is the essence of stereotypical autumn. It’s a dark day today, the sky capped in silver and Kei buries the bottom of his face in the thick scarf he bought yesterday -along with one for Kageyama, because the setter isn’t fooling anyone. He’s a bossy nightmare when he’s sick, he’s even worse than- than Kuroo-.

Kei forces himself to think of the name, it has to stop hurting at some point.

Over here, it has been a little easier, the distance makes it so that Kuroo’s voice in his head is little more than a low murmur, something that Kei can almost tune out through sheer will.

And every thing’s so difficult, and every thing’s so beautiful, and Kei misses him terribly but also has stopped wanting to see him, really wanting to see him.

He hasn’t asked Kageyama if Kuroo has tried to text him, that’s something to think about when he’s back somewhere it matters.

He’s almost started to feel alright, but that’s exactly what he cant allow, he’s leaving the overflowing, flower-less window boxes and the nice architecture and the museums soon enough, and he really needs to be around things that might remind him of his stupid soul mate without wanting to cry like a five-year-old..

A gust of wind blows past him, making the ends of the scarf flutter, and Kei looks back, maybe he should call Kageyama and tell him that he’s taking the long way around. The only reason either of them dropped their lives out of the blue and ended up here was Kei.

The phone is halfway out of his pocket when Kei lets go of that thought, it feels weird, Kageyama is pissed off anyways, he probably won’t even answer.

The restaurant is on one of the blocks surrounding a small plaza with a tiny fountain. It’s still half an hour to the time he said he’s meet Bianchi, so Kei distracts himself looking inside the other shops and walking around, not wanting to look like his date is extremely late.

He’s gotten used to the lack of music by now so it’s all the more noticeable when the busker starts singing, especially because he isn’t half-bad. When Kei turns around to find the source of the sound, he finds the man sitting on the edge of the fountain, a battered looking guitar in his arms. He’s tall, and wearing a long leather trench coat on top of equally dark clothing.

The song he’s singing is old, pretty well known, Kei figures it’s par for the course.

_Through the storm, we reach the shore_

  
_You give it all but I want more_

  
_And I'm waiting for you_

_With or without you_

He doesn’t know why he stays to listen, it’s cold outside and now it’s a respectable time to go into the restaurant.

But he does anyway.

It ends, of course, like everything.

When Kei walks into the restaurant, he can spot Bianchi immediately, the same way he always could Kuroo -and how dare the universe do this to him, it’s just unfair-, he walks the few steps to the table, feeling numb as he slips into the chair and sheds the orange scarf.

The boring, small-talk, the smiles, the food orders and the compliments fly right over his head, because since he was outside -since the song- it’s like a pitcher of cold water has been dropped over his head. “You said you needed to talk to me about volleyball.” He says, arms crossed over his chest.

The man’s eyes widen for a second, and no, this man isn’t Kuroo and Kei has known that form the start. But this man _isn_ _’t_ Kuroo and Kei owes him nothing, so he’s going to go straight to the point before Kageyama can fall in a manhole or a river or something. Hell the only reason he didn’t just cancel before entering the restaurant is that he’s curious to know that the implication that a team from here might want him isn’t just an exaggeration of both his and Kageyama’s invention.

Bianchi clears his throat. “Ah, yes-” he smiles, pulling a folder out of a very expensive-looking leather briefcase that Kei hadn’t noticed set in one of the table’s vacant seats. “-we better get that out of the way. Now Tsukishima, I want to be clear on this, what I’m about to propose to you is by no means my decision, I’m just the middle man and didn’t have anything to do with the owners of Ali setting their sights on you. They probably would have contacted you in Japan, all I did was confirm that you had come over here.”

Kei’s hands take the folder and he opens it quickly. It’s a bunch of papers, the legal jargon goes right over his head, but he can get the gist of it. “You-” Bianchi’s lips purse. “They bought my contract?”

The man laughs. “No, of course not,” he stops as if to make it more dramatic. “But if you ask them to, they will, there’s a bunch of offensive players from your generation joining the international leagues as of late, but that doesn’t seem true for the defensive positions. And you have quite a reputation-”

Kei scoffs. “I don’t care for flattery.” But for some reason, his eyes cant tear away from the papers.

“It isn’t,” the older man sys. “Do you not read the on-line forums? They call you ‘Monster killer’, a bit dramatic for my taste, but it is true that most of the defensive players from your generation have either chosen to stay in Japan or abandoned the sport. The Ali owners would be delighted to have you.”

Kei stays silent for a second, eyes scanning the papers. He’s seen Kageyama’s, and the deal he’s being offered isn’t bad. It’s true that he never considered leaving Japan before this, but it’s also true that he was just letting the current take him where it might. He doesn’t want to stop playing in the near future, that becomes clearer everyday, at this point -after quitting the museum was as easy as typing up the resignation letter- it’s all but set in stone.

“So if I said yes, how-” he finds himself saying, barely even thinking about it. “-I mean I’m not saying yes for sure but, how are these things usually done?”

“Then we would contact your team and start the negotiation.” Bianchi answers smoothly. “It has been unofficially discussed, and depending on the terms, they have said they would be amenable to discussing it, but when it’s serious all the legal caveats take time.”

“What you’re saying is, it would probably happen, right?”

A slow smile spreads over the man’s face. “I’m pretty confident, yes.”

.

.

Turning around like some sort of idiot would have been so humiliating.

Tobio may have known he was going in the wrong direction, but he had both a decent amount of time and his pride… and Tsukishima was being annoying so-

The apartment he was going to see ended up being a huge waste of time, he could hear the children -as in probably more than two- from the apartment on the left screaming from the second he put a foot inside. It was all downhill from there, Tobio doesn’t hate children but he certainly doesn’t want them crying on the other side of his wall at eight am.

Besides, the owner really did barely speak English, leading to a conversation that happened with Tobio mostly googling images and her gesturing furiously, so when Tobio told her he’d call, she actually seemed relieved.

He eyes the map, but they didn’t schedule any more apartment viewings for today, the only red dot that hasn’t been crossed out is the restaurant that Tsukishima is supposed to meet Binky in -Tobio knows that’s not his name, but he dislikes the guy so he doesn’t quite care-. He thinks about it for a couple of seconds, they’re supposed to meet up after Tsukishima is done with that anyways, so Tobio walks, slowly in that direction.

All the restaurants around the little, cobblestoned plaza seem to be full, with lines outside, maybe he should have thought to stop for food first, but he’s here already. Tobio takes a seat on the edge of the fountain, there’s some guy in something that looks a lot like a dress playing the violin atrociously two steps for him, but he can ignore it just fine -and hey, if Hinata has no issue with subjecting him to that anime opening that sounds like rodents singing at least three times a day, he can stand a little bad violin playing-.

He should just text Tsukishima and go to the hotel, whatever the blond said the other day about not sleeping with lookalikes, Tobi isn’t so sure he won’t with the mood he’s been on the past couple of days.

Looking up ant the overcast sky, he sighs, any of the first three apartments they saw yesterday would be alright, he figures. None of them feel Right, but that’s probably just homesickness talking. That he and Tsukishima managed to find an apartment that was within their budget and they both liked right out of high school was a fluke in the first place.

“It would be so funny if you fell in.” The mocking tone is a little muffled, when Tobio looks up, he realizes that it’s because Tsukishima is hiding half of his face behind the garishly orange scarf he insisted on buying yesterday.

Tobio’s hand rises to fiddle with the end of his own, it’s light blue, at least that’s decent, he had to fight Tsukishima for it, all the others in that store had ridiculous prints. “That was short.” Tobio huffs.

“The part that interested me was short.” Tsukishima sighs, sitting down beside Tobio, long legs bending in an awkward angle, the fountain isn’t that tall. “As soon as he was done with the actual offer and started hitting on me, I just ate fast and said we had afternoon plans.”

The second part isn’t really all that important, Tobio realizes, he just gets the gist of the fact that Tsukishima is sticking to his guns.

The first one, however. “He offered you a spot?” he asks, a little breathless, and that’s stupid because he’s a professional athlete and he’s been sitting here for a bit, so what the hell?

Tsukishima sucks in his lips, looking worried for a second. “With your team.” He says, looking down at the cobblestones. And he looks almost guilty? It’s weird, and stupid.

Tobio scoffs. “What did you say?”

A soft lick of wind blows through, making the soft curls that are starting to form at Tsukishima’s neck sway slightly. He turns his head to the sky, taking a deep breath, shoulders not hunched, for once. “I said yes.” He glances at Tobio out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not confirmed yet, they have to negotiate my contract with the Frogs. But I said yes.”

It quiet for a second, just the atrocious violin and the rustling of the dry leaves being dragged away by the wind. Tobio doesn’t know what Tsukishima expects him to say. Congratulations is a lot, seeing as he knows full well this wasn’t in Tsukishima’s plans, and the blond is much better at planning and organizing than Tobio, in general, so asking him how, and when, and what he’s going to tell his mother in order to not have her threaten to move to Rome with them, it feels useless.

No, not them, Tobio realizes. With him, with Tsukishima.

It’s not like he and Tobio are joined at the hip or anything. That’s something Tobio has been working through for the whole for the last two months, it should be far since processed in his mind.

The atrocious violinist stops, and in the newfound quiet, Tsukishima groans. “Thank god, the one that was here before him was actually decent.” His eyes search Tobio’s face, and he tosses a takeout bag Tobio hadn’t realized he’d been holding into his lap. “There, it’s lasagna, so you don’t tell Miwa I abandoned you in Rome.”

It’s a stupid thing, the kind they’ve been doing for each other since forever, but Tobio’s chest tightens. At the same time, that bitterness in the back of his throat, that wanting thing that’s been speaking for him lately teems to dance in delight. “Do you want to look for a two bedroom?”

Tsukishima startles at that, hands tightening at the edge of the fountain. “Well, it would save us some money. I’ll have to start looking at listings from zero though.”

And at last, since the conversation started, Tobio feels like eh can breathe. “Well we should finish the wine at the hotel room anyways. And you can stop whining about being out of ice cream and buy some on the way back.”

Tsukishima shoots him a grateful smile, and it feels like the steel jaws of a bear trap have just closed around Tobio’s chest.

.

.

They’re drunk, silly, giggly drunk and Kei’s given up trying to convert yen to euros. Instead, he’s looking up at the ceiling, sprawled on one of the chairs, feet up on Kageyama’s bed while the other is star-fished by the head, looking even more drunk than Kei feels.

It’s not as chilly in the room a sit is outside, and, used to changing as soon as they got home from years of doing sports. They both changed into more comfortable clothing as soon as they got in. So Kageyama is in a ratty, old white t-shirt and sweatpants, and Kei is in a shirt that’s just as threadbare and boxers, covered in one of the slightly scratchy complimentary robes from the hotel.

There’s still a half finished bottle of wine, but Kei feels too dizzy to lean forward to pass it.

Kageyama glares at him from the headboard, Kei just smirks and takes a sip.

It happens fast, then, faster than Kei’s alcohol addled brain can comprehend. One second Kageyama is looking up from the pile of overly soft pillows by the headboard and the next he’s half-lunging, half-crawling over to Kei, brushing away the maps and the pens and everything else between them, hand outstretched and demanding he hand over the bottle.

Kei laughs, holds it just out of reach, and Kageyama’s eyes flash cobalt in the darkening room.

It’s almost sundown.

And the thing now is that it’s natural but it also feels different, it’s like the things Kei could do before and not think twice about it before have suddenly taken on a weight of their own and Kageyama propels himself forward, even closer, hands bracing on Kei’s chest. “Bastard, you’re going out to buy more.” He growls, but all Kei hears are his breaths and the birds outside, and he’s definitely not just giggly drunk, he realizes because he doesn’t notice the chair creaking and tipping over until they’re both landing on the floor, in a heap of pained libs.

It only makes sense though, neither of them is particularly thin.

The bottle is unscathed, though, and Kageyama takes the brief second where Kei gazes up at him, dazed, to take it and -rather impressively- down the good fourth of the bottle that was still filled with wine in just one gulp.

He doesn’t even manage to swallow properly, there’s a little trail of red dripping down the side of his triumphant smirk.

That tiny, meandering drop of wine breaks the reservations, the _weight_ that Kei was just thinking of just disappears, like maybe he was thinking way too much.

The next thing he knows is he’s licking up the trail of wine and kissing Kageyama straight on the mouth, a growl rumbling in his chest as Kei’s tongue invades the setter’s mouth. And there’s no weight, no world, no court or teams. In the chilly twilight, there’s just them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! I hope you all liked this one, we're inching closer to Kags' feelings! Yay  
> Your comments all do make my day!
> 
> Love, love :3 Kyrye


	3. (too late to be) Gracious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think there’s that much to forgive—” He says instead. “You don’t have to blame yourself fully to make me feel better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally done! Omg this chapter took a while and I'm so sorry, work has kicked my butt in every way. I enjoyed writing it a lot, and anyone who knows my writing knows that means this one hits... a little hard.  
> I do hope you all like it.  
> Also, shoutout to [the wonderful Jules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules) for betaing this and dealing with my absolute lack of knowing proper English grammar.

Tsukishima likes to complain about the way Tobio sleeps… As if he isn't way worse. Then again, Tobio might be exaggerating a little because he’s just woken up to a seven degree morning with a freezing cold hand pressed to his belly and another freezing cold foot slotted between his shins.

And Tsukishima is just snoozing away, nose buried in the pillow, hair fanning up in curls he usually tames into smoothness. All while his appendages reach under the covers that Tobio has wrapped himself up in, no doubt shying away from the cold of the early morning, and pressing right onto his warm skin.

Doesn’t he have his own bed?

Tobio groans and rolls over so he’s facing the ceiling, his mouth tastes the way he imagines a dead rodent would and the brain matter right behind his eyes is throbbing with hangover-induced pain. Something else stings on his back when he stretches, probably nail marks, knowing Tsukishima like he does. The bastard claws and bites, and not that it isn’t good most of the time, but-

Well,  _ fuck _ , whatever was stopping Tsukishima from sleeping with Tobio the last few weeks certainly went out of the window last night— or, maybe the alcohol just overrode it. Tobio is not going to ask, as he never has; this is how it’s always been, to the point where the blond wore himself out so much that he fell asleep in Tobio’s bed.

Speaking of which, the body beside his shifts, shivering slightly in the autumn morning. The balcony window is open, as Tsukishima has insisted it be for the past week and a half -like he’s either trying to cleanse the room of something, or freeze the both of them to death— the gauzy curtains are doing absolutely nothing to keep the draft out. Tobio fumbles for his - _ Tsukishima’s _ \- phone under the pillow, it’s not even seven. Hell, it’s not even fully light outside.

Tsukishima shivers again, of course, because he’s literally only covered with a sheet, and another icy hand squirms into the blanket cocoon around Tobio’s body and over his left flank. By now, the blond is practically spooning him.

Tobio takes a short look at the other, breath catching in his throat, it’s too early for this. It’s too early for anything.

If he wakes Tsukishima up now, he’s definitely not getting back to sleep, between the general bitching about the blankets and the racket the other always makes while showering. He looks at his former teammate for a second, then begrudgingly pulls the blankets out from where they’re secured under the weight of his body and, trying his hardest not to think much of it, throws half of the fabric over Tsukishima’s back.

Now, this isn’t like them at  _ all _ , Tobio realizes. Usually, he’d be kicking Tsukishima out of his bed and mocking him for ever being exhausted enough that he couldn’t walk two steps to his own.

But it’s not even seven, and they  _ are _ in Rome. A stupidly perfect orange leaf just got dragged into the room by the wind. And it’s cold,  _ so _ cold; winter is going to suck here, or rather, it would if he were moving here alone. He tries his best to ignore that thought, all while wondering just where it came from.

Hinata is listening to something in a language that’s a lot like Italian and then not at all like it. His voice has turned into a fairly decent baritone over the years, sometimes Tobio resents him for that— he resents him for so many other things, even still— seeing as he still can’t grasp enough of the concept of a tune well enough to even try to carry it.

He’s mulling that over Tsukishima drifts closer still, curling his long body under the blankets, his breath heavy on the back of his neck and deep with sleep.

For a second Tobio lets himself be frozen, and he almost lets that thing that has been chasing him around for the past few days rear its ugly head.

This is no time to be realizing things, though, so Tobio bears the chill of Tsukishima’s skin, leans into it, and then lets himself melt back into unconsciousness.

.

.

Part of Kei expected him to wake up the day after accepting that proposal to move halfway around the world and be absolutely sure he’d made a huge mistake and very much ready to run back to his apartment in Tokyo.

But in the end it wasn’t what happened at all, he woke up in Kageyama’s bed— spooning the setter, who, for some reason, chose just the night Kei was too drunk and sore to walk to his own bed to not turn himself into a damn blanket burrito— with a huge headache, but oddly sure of his decision. 

Which, of course, after a long morning of Internet searching while he nursed the absolutely terrible wine hangover that night left him with, brought him to where he is right now.

“Oi, are you sure we can just sign these things like that?” Kageyama asks in Japanese, frowning at the English copy of the contract for the lease of their new apartment. He’s barely bothered to read it, and Kei can only wonder if the setter trusts him  _ that _ much, or he’s just not aware that one can get swindled fairly easily through fraudulent contracts.

“Not that you would know, since you always have made me do everything for the apartment in Tokyo,'' Kei snorts, remembering the time he had to quite literally introduce Kageyama to an accountant because he sure as hell wasn’t going to be doing the other’s taxes. “But yes, I made sure we had our papers in check. That's why we did that stupidly long line at the embassy yesterday.”

“Oh.” Needing no further prompting, Kageyama brings his pen down to scrawl his signature right beside Kei’s. It’s still the loopy thing with a heart that Sugawara thought up for him so long ago, and Kei feels just a little nostalgic at the long, fast brush strokes it takes Kageyama to put it down on paper.

_ That’s _ when the horrid feeling of insecurity and fear fills him.

Because he’s moving to Italy with someone that has never had any doubts about playing pro and eventually moving away from Japan, whereas Kei never even entertained the thought that he would, as his only tether to the country Kei considered home up to a couple of weeks ago.

At best, he’d thought sepi-pro would be it for him, if he didn’t get injured or something before it happened.

His family, Tadashi, they’re staying behind; it’s obvious, but how obvious it is opens a hole in the middle of his stomach.

And Kuroo… he’s probably not going to see Kuroo again, in general. And even through all of Kei’s conflicting feelings about him, he can’t help but feel forlorn at the thought.

Even though Kuroo clearly doesn’t intend to talk to him, even if Kageyama—who still has Kei’s phone— has given no signs of it having been reached out to.

Suddenly, he realizes it’s all gone quiet. Kei looks up at the owner of the apartment who is staring at them expectantly, a wide smile on his face, one of his hands is holding a set of keys out to Kei. “All yours.” he says, in heavily accented English, which makes Kei think that he really has to get better at speaking it—and Italian, since Kageyama seems to learn more by stumbling his way through conversations, and it might take time for him to adjust if he plans to survive over here. “If you two want to stay here for a bit more it’s alright. I have a couple of errands to run, so…”

”It’s fine, we’ll lock the door on our way out.” Kei waves him off , taking a deep breath as he looks around; even though he was the one that found this apartment in the listings, he can’t help but be a little awed. Between him being rational with his money and Kageyama only being a big spender when it comes to volleyball gear, they were able to get a pretty decent, if slightly narrow two floor loft.

The lower floor is open plan, with a relatively high ceiling and modern accents on the walls. From where he stands near the entryway, he can see the kitchen and the balcony with their fancy silver railings and surfaces; the dark wooden floor shines under their feet.

Of course, there’s a downside, and in this case it is that it has no furniture. He can only guess that Kageyama won’t be too interested in getting much— if left to Tobio, they might end up with a home gym and nowhere to sit anyone down for a visit, so it’s going to come down to Kei.

Still, it feels good to be here. It looks even better than Kei imagined it from the ad.

Kei is almost glad that— assuming the Frogs don’t require him to play until the last game of the year— they are going to be moving in around late November at latest. Setting up the house wouldn’t be easy in the middle of the season, but Kei already has a couple of ideas. The good thing about Kageyama not caring much about furniture is that Kei’s going to have more or less free reign of how the apartment will end up looking.

Then again, that leaves him with what? Three weeks to break the news to his family? He’s not looking forward to that conversation, it’s not that they’re not going to support him, but his mom might cry and Akiteru  _ definitely _ will.

He’s no good with crying people.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind the man’s back startles Kei a little, he breathes in deeply and stands from the cheap folding chair the owner explained the contract to them in, a little overwhelmed by the fact that yes, this place, in Rome, is leased to  _ them _ . First, he goes over to the balcony, the wide balcony with the sturdy railing that won him over in the first place.

And though he’d like to deny it, his fingers itch for a cigarette.

He doesn’t know why, it’s not like he plans to continue smoking like he has been. After everything with Kuroo happened, it might just kill him at practice.

Kei may not be a sucker for ambiance or anything like that, but for some reason, this third floor apartment with the balcony that faces a little park and is flanked by two large trees, -currently laden with orange-red leaves, made him want to stay.

The fact that it is actually within walking distance of the gym that Ali Roma practices in, doesn’t stop baffling Kei. It almost feels too perfect to be true.

A sharp gust of wind brushes past his nose, bringing a stray curl of the hair he’s let grow as of late over his left eye, and Kei feels a little lighter when he breathes in. This is a good thing, no matter what else is going on;  _ this _ is a good thing, and he can savor it in a way he hasn’t been able to as of late.

From inside, he hears Kageyama yell something unintelligible. “What?” Kei asks, peeking in.

“I said I’m taking the room with the ensuite.” Kageyama calls back voice distant, presumably from upstairs.

Kei frowns. “No way—” and then he’s sprinting up the stairs, his long legs taking them two at a time. “You’re not pulling this again, King, you do  _ not _ get dibs.”

.

.

“Does this mean I can have the car back?” Miwa asks, smugness clear in the way the one corner of her mouth that’s visible to Tobio twitches up. “I mean, I always thought you’d like, gag-gift this piece of scrap to Kei-kun, but since now you’re  _ both _ leaving,  _ together _ …”

Tobio’s sister has never been the clearest person, and though Tobio can see— or hear, whatever— the emphasis in her words, he truly doesn’t understand how it’s a big deal. It is Miwa that’s always saying how Tsukishima keeps him from being a total slob. “Did you think we’d want to pay to lug it all the way to Italy? And why would you think that? It’s too specific.” It is, but the scariest thing is that Tobio just might have, what with Tsukishima’s staunch refusal to drive, it would have been funny.

Sometimes it feels like Miwa understands him just a little better than he himself does.

She shrugs. “Just a thought,” they’re at an intersection, she takes a quick look back. “Would you have liked that Kei-kun? It’s a good car.”

“I don’t like to drive.” Tsukishima grumbles, sleepy, from the back seat. It’s mostly true, Tsukishima organized his life in a way that always had him either close enough to jog to important places or just out of range enough that public transport sufficed.

He’s been oddly quiet since they signed the apartment lease, not just sad quiet, but more like he’s pondering on what to do now.

“That’s such a shame, you know?” Miwa hums. “I find it so fun, isn’t it  _ so _ fun, Tobio?”

Tobio just grunts; he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, like most things, but it’s a medium to a bunch of things he  _ does _ need and  _ does _ like, so… 

Still, for some reason, Tobio is feeling uncharacteristically giddy, even after only having occasionally stepped on a court in the past few days. There’s something that reads a lot like anticipation coiling in his belly, and it has nothing to do with the couple of games that he has left with the Adlers.

He only consciously notices because not only is Hinata listening to some stunningly boppy k-pop, but Miwa has put on one of her girly American singers on the stereo and he’s actually bopping his head to the woman’s voice, even though it’s hard to make out the words with how low it’s playing.

Even Tsukishima hasn’t complained.

Tsukishima  _ hasn’t  _ complained.

Tobio chances a look at the back seat. All of the blond’s long limbs are sprawled over the seat and the headrests, tall as he is, he seems even more so in the narrow space, and he’s looking out of the window with an expression that’s almost a little content.

And for some reason he can’t look away.

Even when the song changes, giving way to something much slower, more mellow.

Miwa seems to pick up on it, she turns up the music and laughs. Outside, the twilight sky is a washed out blue, framed by dark grey clouds that speak of a night to be spent listening to the rain beat into their bedroom windows. There’s just enough light to hide imperfections while still being able to see some detail.

_ But I can’t fix him, can’t make him better. _

_ And I can’t do nothing about his strange weather. _

Tobio holds that breath for as long as he can, he doesn’t know why, but he does.

And it’s a good thing, because a couple of seconds later the moment is broken, he feels something vibrate against his thigh, it turns out to be Tsukishima’s phone.

He wordlessly hands it to the blond in the back, eyes stern, as if saying that he could keep Tsukishima’s real life at bay in Italy, but it’s too much to do so here, and the bastard has some things he has to solve on his own anyways. Tobio can only go so far.

Besides, the contact name is  **_Coach_ ** , and Tobio can only guess how that’s going to go.

Tsukishima takes the phone with a frown, and Tobio turns back around, eyes on the lighter than usual, since it’s a Sunday, traffic jam that they’re currently stuck in. He mostly tunes out the conversation; it’s none of his business, and Tsukishima isn’t the kind to just back out of things— he never would be, even if he wasn’t so prideful.

“—who did you just say called you?” Tsukishima’s voice is breathless, laced with both longing and anger. “No, I have no idea.” But quickly enough, the longing dissipates and it’s only ice that the blond speaks with. “Yeah, I’ll come in tomorrow and explain— yes. You don’t have to worry about that, I’ll fix it today. I’m very sorry that you had to find out like that, it wasn’t my intention.”

A couple more phrases are exchanged, pleasantries and apologies from Tsukishima, this time Tobio is itching to know, but all he gets once the blond has hung up is to see him sitting properly, back ramrod straight. That’s how he knows that, much like the sky, something is coming down, and probably not something good. “Miwa, please, take the next exit. I need you to drop me off somewhere.”

.

.

Kei only realizes that he has no idea how he’s going to face Kuroo when he’s on the threshold of the man’s apartment, knocking like the other has stolen something from him, something important.

Maybe he has.

It isn’t that he was looking forward to telling his coach or the team that he was leaving, but he definitely didn’t want them to find out because Kuroo was too much of a coward to reach out to  _ him _ and too curious to just stick to his decision of kicking Kei to the curb. A new surge of anger rises through him, and he forgets for a couple of seconds about the ill-advised sex he had with said man before he went off to Italy.

Because, how does Kuroo  _ dare _ -

The door swings open, to a bewildered face and sunken, red rimmed eyes, Kuroo’s hair looks like it hasn’t been combed through since they broke up. The change is evident, even if Kei didn’t know the other man the way he does, even if he hadn’t known him as long as he does. In any other circumstances, this might deter Kei, but today, the whiplash was too much, from the soft, nostalgic feeling of coming back to Sendai and knowing he’d be leaving soon, to the scorching hot anger of Kuroo just barging back in through the back door to Kei’s life. 

Yeah, right now he’s pissed off enough that he really doesn’t care that the other looks like he got dragged around by Cerberus himself.

Kei levels him with an accusatory glare, fists clenching at his sides, breath crystallizing, turning into a rock at the back of his throat. “You went asking about me to my coach? Really?" he bites out, and Kuroo’s shoulders seem to hunch under the old, threadbare t-shirt he’s wearing. Where a soft sort of hope had begun to soften his bedraggled face before, understanding dawns on it, and he looks all the more miserable.

He opens his mouth for a second, a false start before those red rimmed eyes just look up guiltily and he steps aside, motioning for Kei to come in. “Please, I don’t want to deal with a noise complaint.”

If this weren’t Kuroo, who, despite all his other faults, wears his heart on his sleeve, Kei might be afraid he was thinking this would all lead to sex. But the defeated air around the other man is proof enough that he doesn’t, and— to hell with it— even if he did, Kei knows this is different.  _ He _ is different. If he were to be asked, today they’re closer to coming to blows than anything else. 

He tilts his head up haughtily and steps in , lips pressed tight together because he really does want an explanation, or he should. “So?” He turns around, standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. 

Kuroo takes in a big gulp of air, his eyes are soft, like he’s begging Kei to listen, like he already knows he won’t. "Tsukki, I went to your apartment and-” he cuts off, looking down at his hands “It doesn’t matter Ok? I just found out you left and I didn’t even know if it was for good. I couldn’t— I needed to know.” He takes a deep breath. “If I had known what city you were in I would have jumped on a plane, I swear, but I didn’t and your coach was the next best thing. I’m sorry, but I had to." He lowers his hands, helplessness evident in the slump of his shoulders, but Kei can't spare tenderness or pity. Right now, he's simmering with anger. “I needed to know.”

He repeats it like it explains anything, like it excuses anything. Like Kei wasn’t just feeling better only to be yanked back down to this pain.

And this is stupid, he knows, he’s only hurting them both while being here because all the excuses in the world wont be enough. Kei is just mad, and where that anger snoozed while he was in Italy it has woken up now and it wants vindication.

For a second, the admission, the knowledge that Kuroo did seek him out, even after the e-mail, stops Kei in his tracks. A little vindication, accompanied by tenderness blooms in his chest, but that too, is quickly overridden when reason catches up to him. "Oh, you needed to know, didn't you? Did it ever cross your mind to pick up the phone and call me?" He hisses, voice falling two tones lower than his usual. It’s aggressive, a way he doesn’t believe he’s ever spoken to Kuroo in, he can’t stop himself now, all the frustration for being dismissed so when they broke up, of Kuroo not even trying to call him before he went off spouting Kei’s business to people who had no reason to know yet. "Was owning up to shit that much harder?" 

The harsh tone seems to get to the older man in a way that Kei showing up to his apartment at six pm on a Sunday didn’t seem to. "Well, what was I supposed to do? You didn't want to talk to me." Kuroo snaps back, now his arms are folded over his chest too. “I was sure of that, would it have been better if I just started asking questions about your life out of the blue?”

"How am I supposed to know? And how is all that my fault Kuroo?" Kei all but growls, already feeling the corners of his eyes begin to burn. "You kicked me out of your life, you told me to get out and didn’t even care that I— at least find a decent excuse." 

The older man rakes a hand through his black hair, shoulders sagging, and suddenly he looks smaller. Kei can lie to everyone, but not to himself, not when the part of him that just wants to step forward and be gracious just to get that look off Kuroo’s face is struggling to come out. He spent so long wanting, and then he had what he wanted, and now, now he’s realizing that last part was never true.

But Kuroo wouldn’t want that anyway, whatever morbid curiosity drove him to poke his nose into Kei’s business doesn’t mean he regrets, even a little, kicking Kei to the curb and then letting him humiliate himself the way he did that day. It doesn’t mean that he’s going to feed Kei’s ego and soothe it and ask for the love Kei’s never truly run out of. 

“You’re right, it’s not your fault,” the corners of his mouth twitch up the slightest bit. “I should have called you, I just had this image in my head that you— that the next time I saw you, I needed to make things different.” He chuckles humorlessly “I wanted to do it right but after I called your coach— Well, look where that got me.”

“That’s no reason.” Kei interrupts, gritting his teeth as hard as he can as his eyes fog up. “—why would you even want that? Kuroo, I wasn’t the one that ended things, I wasn’t the one that spent all this time saying I didn’t want the stupid music, or you. Why did you have to sneak around and go to my coach behind my back? I don’t think you’re seeing things the way I did, so what is it?”

And there’s a second then, a second of drawn out silence where Kuroo looks like he could crumble to the floor at any moment, and Kei knows because he just— he does, he  _ knows _ , the truth is staring him in the face and he’s too tired to do that thing he usually does where he ignores it. "You left, that’s why—" Kuroo says softly, "You left that night, and you left for Italy and I realized there were things I wanted to say to you. But you left—" he presses his lips together in a tight, bitter line. “And I thought maybe it just didn’t hurt as much for you.”

Kei snorts bitterly memories of sneaking out of this very apartment surfacing. Disbelief fills him, of course, the one person outside of his little social circle he ever thought made an attempt to understand him just has to pull this. "So what? Was I supposed to make breakfast and wait until your drunk ass woke up?” He interrupts Kuroo. “Look, you were very clear when you broke it off, that’s why I left that day, and it’s also why I sent you that email the way I did.”

“Tsukki, I— Of  _ course _ you weren't.” The older man takes a step towards him, Kei immediately stiffens. “But I wish you at least woke me up to say you were going, even then there were a lot of things I wanted to say. It may not have been the best setting, but I would have taken it over nothing.”

He takes another step then, eyes as filled with hurt as Kei feels. Now they’re about two feet apart, and Kei feels like he can’t breathe. “And now?” he whispers, with what feels like it’s the last of the air that’s left in his lungs.

“And now I just want to say I’m sorry, I was unfair to you. Everything I did that day and after was unfair to you.” Kuroo takes the proverbial olive branch, his arms fall to the sides and, just for a second, Kei pictures taking the step and a half that separates them and just slipping in. “You deserved better, and I want—” something shifts in Kuroo’s eyes, some kind of steely determination that Kei understands all too well. Kuroo’s fingers tighten where they’re gripping his sweatpants at his sides. “I should congratulate you, Ali Roma is a great team and I’m sure you’re going to do well Tsukki. You deserve the recognition.”

It’s stupid, it’s going down a rabbit hole Kei knows all too well leads right where he’s standing, but he can’t help it, some stupid part of him still wants for Kuroo to grovel and apologize and say he was wrong enough times for his own ego to find it acceptable to forgive, to tell the other it’s fine and they can try. That particular ball is in Kuroo’s court now, Kei can’t just throw himself down a cliff not knowing someone will be there to catch him, and even when he thinks that Kuroo might have spent this whole conversation implying that  _ he _ is, it doesn’t feel right. “Is that all?” He pushes one last time even though it feels grating and forced. Kei stares at Kuroo, his heart in his throat, beating so wildly he feels a little breathless.

“I’m so sorry, Tsukki.” Kuroo says and Kei knows he means it, knows if time could be dialed back he’d do things differently. “If I knew I wouldn’t have asked your coach, but that’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.” Kuroo looks up, hazel eyes hard, meeting Kei’s in a sort of impasse. “Can you forgive me?” Is all he says after, and that’s enough for Kei, it’s  _ enough.  _ His palms hurt from the way his fingernails are digging in them and his head is spinning. Kuroo didn’t give him the answer he so desperately wanted, he didn’t chase, and that’s it,  _ that’s it.  _

“ I forgive you.” He says, hollow and low, and the horrible feeling of his chest being frozen and empty comes back. “I forgive you so, don’t mess with me like that anymore.”

He tries to keep the tears at bay, and though he succeeds at keeping them at just the corners of his eyes, his glasses fog up as he walks past Kuroo. “So you  _ are _ leaving.” the man gasps, and it’s so low that Kei is sure he wasn’t meant to hear, he’s so sure he almost doesn’t answer.

“Yeah,” he mutters, fingers reaching for the door. “I am.”

And he waits a second, he does, a second that spans an eternity. A second that spans seven years of longing and late-night imagining what life might me like, what love might be like. But Kuroo doesn’t move, and Kei is so pent up, so wired up, that he’d know. Kuroo doesn’t move and Kei’s fingers wrap around the cold metal of the doorknob and it turns far too easily.

It would be weak, pathetic even, to wait. So he walks right through, holding back tears. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, that last part isn’t possible anymore, Kei can feel the wet warmth sliding down his cheeks. It’s not so far to the elevator, but it feels like it, when he can’t see well enough to be sure he isn’t stepping on something undesirable, anything feels like a large distance. 

He isn’t thinking of anything in particular anymore, all of his mind is a buzz of hurt and ‘it’s over, really  _ over _ now, isn’t it?’ Which is just as well, because properly dissecting Kuroo’s words, the way he looked like he’d been gutted by just seeing Kei again, would be too much. 

He feels so hollow, somehow, that he can’t even find it in himself to sob. The only thing he can do is let the tears slide down and down, hitting the floor as Kei insistently pushes at the elevator button, it’s raining outside now, but Kei barely hears it, he just wants to be far away from here and all that’s stopping him is the  _ stupid,  _ slow elevator.

He’s barely seeing or hearing, so the warmth is what he registers first, so familiar that Kei chokes on it. Kuroo’s arms, well as he knows them, are tight and insistent, wrapped under his armpits while some other weight is pressed to the place where his left shoulder meets his neck. Kei is frozen, the elevator doors open in front of him but his legs seem to have decided they’re just fine where they are. “Why?” he manages to croak out, and Kuroo’s arms get tighter. Kei can feel him, smell him for the first time in so long and it’s nothing short of intoxicating.

“Because I went to look for you to ask you to take me back.” That beloved voice mutters against his shoulder. “Because you lied to me, but I don’t care. And now, I don’t want to hold you back—” Kuroo stutters, his grave voice turning into a sob that breaks Kei’s heart just a little further. “I don’t want to ask you to stay, when you got offered something like that, but I love you and I—” he takes a deep breath, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Kei can only gasp, he can only keep his knees from giving out. It would be so easy to just lean back, to let himself be swallowed by it all even if things can’t be fixed properly anymore.

“I don’t think there’s that much to forgive—” He says instead. “You don’t have to blame yourself fully to make me feel better.”

“If I had stopped to think—”

“You stopped-” Kei breathes out bringing his hands together to wring at his fingers in a way that would be painful any other time, but right now he barely feels. “For four hours, and you still— you still decided to break it off.” It’s the truth, the harshest one, Kei has already walked away once, at Kuroo’s behest, and that tilted his world on its axis.

The tight grip slackens then, and though Kei misses it, though Kei misses it, he can finally breathe. Kuroo’s hands remain on his waist, though, doubtful. “I know Tsukki,” he says, regretful. “I know and I should’ve stayed in that damn bathroom longer, as long as it took to really think about it.”

Those are the words Kei was just wishing the older man would say, almost verbatim.

But that’s all this is, wishing, wanting, hoping for things that can neither be fixed nor taken back. Kei knew from the start, from the very moment he noticed that Kuroo was his soulmate and decided to keep his mouth shut, that it would probably not end well. And it didn’t, it ended in the train wreck he always knew it would. Maybe part of him wants to try, but there’s also a part of him that is irreparably hurt, a part of him that could never trust Kuroo’s love—or his forgiveness, or his regrets— even if a lifetime was spent mending the rift in his heart. It would always be like this, one of them walking away, the other begging on their knees.

It wouldn’t feel right, it  _ doesn’t  _ feel right.

And Kei has seen something else, something that might take him elsewhere, and that elsewhere is not just somewhere to escape to. It’s objectively somewhere better; it would be even if his heart weren’t in tatters.

“I don’t think there’s that much to forgive,” he repeats, mouth dry, cheeks wet. “But that’s because I’m not sure there’s anything to save.”

This time Kuroo does let go, like he’s been burned, and Kei understands. All of him feels like he’s been hit with a flash case of frostbite as well. “I love you,” Kuroo starts, and Kei just can’t hear it, he has to restrain himself from putting his hands over his ears like a toddler. “I want to fix things. But if that’s how you feel, Kei, I don’t think we ever would.”

But he said it. It’s final, decided, and he can’t look back now. He  _ can’t. _

Kei may not be some harp player in Ancient Greece, but if he looks back, his soul is staying here, by the elevator doors with the chipped floor tiles and the dying fern to the left. Coming here wasn’t as much conscious decision as it was impulse, born of anger and bitterness, but that doesn’t matter when he’s  _ here _ and all he wished to hear from Kuroo is being crooned right into his ear. It’s like this whole thing is a test, like this is something that had to happen, because Kei has never been anything but a master of his own fate, and right now he could choose to go back on his word. He could stay, Italy won’t miss him; there are so many people that could fill that spot.

He reaches forward, pressing the elevator button again.

It 's not fair.

Nothing is.

Kuroo isn’t touching him now, won’t be anymore, the neon red numbers mock him as they go down, down, down.

Kei steels himself, wipes the tear tracks with the sleeve of his sweater.

And there’s a hand at his shoulder, there’s a choice, there’s something he could try to fix and the futility of any attempts mixed into one. 

Kei closes his eyes, if he doesn’t look, it doesn’t count, he says desperately to himself breathing Kuroo in for what may well be the last time. And it’s fine, it’s fine, even when familiar lips press to his, even when Kuroo’s hands come back to wrap around his hips.

If he doesn’t look, it doesn’t count, so Kei brings his hands up to tangle in that ridiculous mop of hair and kisses Kuroo hard. It’s all he’s wanted for so long that he almost caves.

It’s also incredibly painful and then the elevator doors ding open behind him.

He doesn’t look, he can’t look.

The whole thing is all for naught though, because the elevator has a mirror and when Kei opens his eyes, just as the doors close, he can see the heartbroken look in Kuroo’s face. And it doesn’t leave him alone, not when he’s downstairs, not when he walks home in the rain.

.

.

Tobio burrows deeper into the blanket, locking his arms around his bent knees and glaring at the living-room tv which is playing a game recording that he hasn’t been able to focus on at all.

It’s pouring outside, he can hear the water pelting against the glass of the windows.

A shock of lighting lights up the sky outside and Tobio sighs, the match is almost over. It has been long enough that it doesn’t hurt his ego to admit that he is slightly worried.

Tsukishima didn’t offer any explanations last night, he got off the car at a busy intersection and curtly thanked Miwa for picking them up at the airport — leaving Tobio to deal with the suitcases too,  _ tch _ , bastard— and walked off so fast that even though he stands out like some sort of lamp post, Tobio wasn’t able to see where he was going.

He can hazard a pretty good guess, though, only one person can make Tsukishima look like  _ that _ .

Kuroo, always  _ fucking _ Kuroo.

Hey, Tobio can be petty and resentful, Tobio of all people has a clear side in this whole thing and it’s definitely not Kuroo’s. 

It isn’t that he thinks Tsukishima is absolutely right, or that all of the things he did were… well, the right thing to do. Rather, it’s this thing where Tobio couldn’t  _ not _ be on his side, even if he does think Tsukishima was an idiot, and sometimes an ass. The same way Tsukishima stood by him while Tobio’s own soulmate outgrew him and fell for someone else, Tobio may be supporting a burning trainwreck, but Tsukishima is  _ his— _

Another flash of lighting, the telltale click of the front door startles Tobio right out of his thoughts. His head snaps right up. It can’t be anyone else— well, Miwa has keys but she wouldn’t barge in on a Sunday night in the middle of a thunderstorm— but Tsukishima, and despite how much it annoys Tobio that he’s stayed up out here instead of going to his room, he’s itching to know what the hell is going on.

Of course, then Tsukishima has to walk in looking like a very concerning mix between a drowned cat and the remains if a shipwreck, and Tobio has to put everything else on the back of his mind because even he’s not mean enough to press the blond for answers when he looks like that.

The door closes softly behind the blond, leaving them with only the tv for lighting.

It’s an understatement to say that Tobio has absolutely no idea how to deal with this. 

So he goes for familiarity, for what he would say in any other circumstances. “You’re dripping on the floor.” He grumbles, “And you’re soaked, go shower. If you get sick, auntie might kill me.”

Usually Tsukishima would respond with some sort of barb, something technical and sharp. Instead, he looks down at himself through soaked lenses like he’s just realized he’s soaked through to,probably, his underwear. Ever so slowly, the blond gets out of his shoes, each one making a wet sound when taken off, then he slips out of the soft knit sweater he’s wearing and hangs it on the coat rack. That reveals a white shirt plastered over the planes of his well built body. “Pneumonia… now wouldn’t that be the cherry on the cake.” He mutters softly.

“Oi! Are you drunk?” Tobio knows he isn’t, it hasn’t been that long, and this isn’t how Tsukishima acts while drunk at all.

“No.” Tsukishima says, walking past Tobio and the couch presumably heading for the bathroom. “I heard you king,” he says without heat. “Get off my back.”

Tobio’s eyes don’t follow him, mostly because he knows that in Tsukishima’s position—whatever that is— he’d want to skulk off in peace. But Tobio can’t help but flinch at the wet sound of clothes falling to the floor and the bathroom floor slamming shut. Tsukishima has this horrid habit of leaving his clothes in a pile outside of the bathroom door— apparently, the bathroom is too dirty for his already dirty clothes, but the floor outside it isn’t— and Tobio wants to think he’s just being rude and leaves it well enough alone.

But, dense as he is— and he knows he is, what can he do about it?— Tobio knows Tsukishima, and if he comes out and trips over his own wet clothes he might just self-combust.

Besides, wet clothes smell icky.

He gathers the sweater from the coat rack— the shoes are a lost cause— and the rest of the clothes from in front of the bathroom door. The thick steam seeping out from under it speaks of the hot water having been turned on to the highest it can go.

Tobio shoves the clothes in the washer and spends the next thirty minutes googling if one can get severely burned by shower water—it’s absolutely possible, unless the shower has some sort of self regulator. Does the one in the apartment have one of those? Tobio hasn’t the slightest.

When Tsukishima does come out, he’s wearing proof of how hot the water was on his skin. Tobio has turned on the light, and so he has the best view he can get of it all. The streaks of red are at their most intense over Tsukishima’s shoulders and neck, but they go down even under the towel wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t look like the many photos of scalded skin Tobio just saw, though. And after shooting him a confused look, the blond numbly turns around and heads for his room.

“What did he do?” His voice almost echoes in the small apartment, although that’s impossible. Tobio is only aware that it was him that just spoke when Tsukishima stops and he looks back at him. Now, that there's some decent light Tobio can see that his eyes are bloodshot, and his eyelids are so swollen they almost make them look smaller.

His bottom lips wobbles, but Tsukishima catches himself just in time. “Give me a break, Kageyama.” He grits out, before going into his room and slamming the door shut.

Tobio turns back around, what the hell? He tries to concentrate on the end of the game in the TV, but it’s not a particularly interesting one and all his mind keeps doing is drift back to Tsukishima and his near-scalded skin, shut in his room.

But well, what can he do? He stands, taking the blanket with him and heading for his own room.

If he hesitates for a couple of seconds in front of Tsukishima’s door, that’s only for him and the darkness to know.

.

.

His bed is too hard, or maybe too soft, and no matter how well he dried it his hair still feels damp.

Kei might have seriously caught some sort of bug from walking halfway across Sendai in a storm. That’s the only rational explanation for this. If anything, he expected to get home and pass out from the long flight and the emotionally exhausting day. But here he is, he can’t stop turning under his blankets, hands twisted into the sheets, kept close to his chest. But there’s no comfortable position, he’s too cold, he’s too hot, and everything feels itchy or numb.

He can’t breathe any way that isn’t shallowly.

By the time he gives up on sleeping, the pouring rain has lulled down into a soft pitter-patting against his windows. There’s still the occasional, far-away flash of lighting, but even the roar, the thunder that comes after that is muffled by the distance. 

Kei gets up, feet sliding into his slippers, and he feels a little more clear-headed. He’s too far up, of course, but he can swear he smells petrichor and salt and wetness both in his skin and everywhere else around him. He wanders around the dark, quiet apartment. It must be close to midnight, but he doesn’t bother to check; it doesn't make much of a difference. 

It really is over, and that’s a hard thought to let go of and let become part of his cosmos.

Once he runs out of windows to stare at the dwindling rain from, he makes himself a cup of tea, barely noticing the taste as his throat works to swallow it.

He has to let it go.

Padding back to his room in the blue black night, Kei catches a glimpse of the doorjamb of Kageyama’s room. The door, which is usually firmly shut at night, has been left slightly ajar, not enough to peek inside, but enough for it to not be an accident borne of Kageyama not having closed the door hard enough.

Kei bites his lip, he really shouldn’t. As of late, he’s been more burden than balm to Kageyama, and it’s beyond rude to go inside someone else’s room and wake them up at this hour.

Still, he thinks back to his cold, uncomfortable bed that seems to sink in every wrong way when Kei lays on it.

He sighs and pushes Kageyama’s door open just far enough for Kei to slip in his room, then closes it softly and finds himself in true darkness, with only the setter’s soft snores for company.

.

.

Tsukishima isn’t  _ light. _

So when he drops on the other side of Tobio’s mattress like some sort of sack of grain, it wakes him up instantly. And he’s not happy about it,  _ now  _ the bastard wants to engage with him. “Mghhhh— are you dying?” he groans, turning around to glare at Tsukishima.

Tobio’s room faces the inside of the apartment tower, so it’s freakishly dark unless the neighbors have their lights on, which they don’t right now, because they’re normal people who aren't awake at—Tobio squints at the faint neon glow of the alarm clock on his bedside table— half past two am. Gods, what has Tsukishima been  _ doing _ all this time?

He can barely even see the outline of the other man’s body where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, just far in enough that he won’t fall off, but not enough to be comfortable. “Maybe.” he snaps back, but there’s a little humor in his voice, like he expected Tobio to say something like that and not just ignore him or throw him out the way anyone else would.

Tobio has to hold himself back from snorting. “No one dies from being dramatic.” he says, shifting a little so that a corner of the blankets is free. “Unless you did catch the pneu-neu- the lung infection thing.”

Tsukishima sighs and stays quiet for a moment. Tobio really wishes he could see the other’s face.

In this situation, he’d expect them to be all over each other by now, but Tsukishima is just sitting there, a hesitating silhouette unwilling to even sit comfortably on the bed. It feels alien, new, Tobio has no idea to deal with it, so any clues would be a godsend. 

“He called my coach to ask if I was leaving—” Tsukishima laughs, low and bitter. “Apparently, he came here when we left.” Tsukishima sighs.

“That’s what you went crazy about?” Tobio asks, glad to finally have some sort of explanation for what happened in the car. “You even freaked Miwa out.”

“Yeah.” The blond huffs. “I don’t even know why I went, my coach already knew, and it’s not like it damaged my chances or anything.” Tobio can almost see the way he grinds his teeth together. “I kept thinking  _ ‘what gives him the right?’ _ and then I was at his front door.”

Tobio feels his own lips tighten in response, he squirms inside the suddenly too-hot blankets and does his best to gather anything from Tsukishima’s dragging tone. “It’s always irked you when people butt into your business.” He says carefully.

One of Tsukishima’s hands makes a sweeping motion upwards, probably to brush his hair back, Tobio can’t be sure. “That’s what I thought,” He huffs. “But the more I talked to him… I think I’m just angry in general. I kept getting even angrier at everything, and he—” the way the blond swallows forcibly is audible. “He said he’s sorry, he said he wanted to try again.”

He chokes up, and if Tobio felt like he finally had some sort of clue about what’s going on a minute ago, now he’s well and truly confused. Isn’t that a good thing? Objectively, wouldn’t that be what Tsukishima would want? He knows the blond is prideful, but it’s plain to anyone's eyes that he  _ loves _ Kuroo, even after the other was Tsukishima’s emotional equivalent to a zoo stampede.

“You’re rejecting the offer.” Tobio responds, and for some reason, that hurts. He’d never planned to move with Tsukishima when he inevitably did, even before Kuroo. The blond has always enjoyed a structured life— that’s why him quitting the museum shocked Tobio, albeit lightly. But in these past few days, Tsuksihima seemed certain, in that unwavering, matter-of-fact way of his, and only when Tobio stopped expecting to leave him behind, the idea of leaving  _ with _ him revealed itself as a very appealing one. Maybe it’s better that he’s only interiorizing that now, though. How embarrassing would it have been had he ever—even if indirectly— let Tsukishima know. “Is  _ that  _ why you woke me up? Look, I don’t—”

It really is dark enough that he  _ can’t _ see anything but the bare outline of Tsukishima’s head and shoulders, he isn’t even wearing glasses so a stray ray of light might give Tobio a clue, but from the silence that has fallen over them, Tobio is certain that he’s being looked at like he’s just said the earth is flat. “Kageyama.” Tsukishima deadpans. “I said no.”

The whole thing takes a second to catch up with Tobio; it’s what he least expected. 

Watching someone pine for seven years only for them to drop a chance like that— It makes so very little sense in his brain. But at the same time, he knows this is not a decision Tsuksihima made lightly, and he isn’t being difficult either. The blond has long past grown being  _ that _ petty, especially with things that matter.

And seeing as this whole Kuroo thing happened the way that it did because Tsukishima decided to keep his mouth shut for the better part of their teenage years  _ and _ all of their adult lives so far… 

The little imp that seems to ride the back of his tongue every time the conversation has anything to do with Tsukishima suddenly wakes up, cheering in delight, filling Tobio with a wave of satisfaction that he  _ really _ shouldn't be feeling, all things considered.

Even if he had— even if he  _ was  _ personally invested in this as anything more than an unfortunate expectator with a bunch of opinions no one has ever asked for and he’s never given, it’s a  _ very _ ugly thing to feel; at least, that’s what his mother would say.

Tobio hasn’t answered, between the absolutely terrifying flood of feelings and the fact that he’s not so sure what Tsukishima wants him to say. He opens his mouth to speak, to say either ‘good’ or to ask if Tsukishima needs to run away to somewhere across the ocean even earlier than they have planned, but that’s when something warm and heavy awkwardly lands on his chest. 

Tsukishima isn’t wearing glasses, and it’s pitch dark, so he probably didn’t even aim, he just leaned his long torso forward and  _ probably  _ hoped neither of his hands ended up on Tobio’s face. The second one is close, though, it lands on the pillow, right beside Tobio’s head, fever-hot skin brushing his ear. “Did you fall asleep again?” Tsuksihima asks, voice uncharacteristically soft and needy, this is what he must have sounded like as a child, Tobio thinks. 

Then again, not really; he probably was a cheeky thing that couldn’t admit to needing anything, even when he was five.

“If I had, then you damn near beheading me with your huge hand would have woken me.” Tobio grumbles, even as he braces himself on his elbows and leans up, the movement somewhat limited by the fact that Tsukishima is leaning half his weight on his chest. “What do you want me to say? Like I’ve even convinced you of anything, and it doesn’t sound like you want me to.” He hums, breathing in deep and everything smells like salt; salt, and  _ Tsukishima _ . “You walked, what? Five kilometers in the rain?”

That seems to snap Tsukishima out of it a little, the blond leans back a little. Tobio can imagine him blinking owlishly. “Wow, that’s comforting.” he says, voice just a bit amused. And in a roundabout way, it seems like it is, because the weight on Tobio’s chest eases a little. “Yeah, just about.”

“If you want cooing, you should go wake up Yamaguchi. Don’t expect me to contend with that level of stubborn.” Tobio huffs, they’re still close enough that he can feel Tsukishima’s breath on his face, and he really can’t see what the blond wants, Tobio has never been good with actually talking about feelings, rather, the opposite. 

Tsukishima laughs wetly. “Don’t say that, he’s been trying to find a chance to play psychologist since it— since he—” He swallows again and the laughter is gone from his voice. “Since Kuroo broke up with me.”

That’s when whatever’s holding Tsukishima together breaks, his hands fist at the blanket covering Tobio’s chest, and his voice breaks in a way that makes that spot just under his sternum ache. It’s the first time since that first night that Tsukishima says it, straight up and out loud, at least to Tobio. 

And as much as he says it like the words are nails tearing up his throat, it’s also tentative, like he’s testing out the words and their weight now that any hope has been squashed by his own hand.

Slowly, as if reaching out to a feral cat, one of Tobio’s hands comes up to wrap around Tsukishima’s wrist, sofly coaxing him to move so it isn’t pinning Tobio to the bed. He pulls the blond so his hand lands on Tobio’s other side, roughly beside his shoulder. No matter how tall Tsukishima is, the pull forces him to get on the bed, twisting his body so he’s on his knees, looming over Tobio, an unidentifiable shadow in a dark room, a scent more familiar than his own.

Tsukishima's breath hitches, and Tobio leans up. This is all he’s ever offered the blond, all he’s ever actually been able to offer. 

It may not be enough, it may not be good, and even now, it’s nothing but a replacement for something that is lost forever.

But here, so acutely aware of the body above his, Tobio can’t help but admit to himself that everything has developed from back when it was just harmless fun between two unattached people. It feels different, even if neither of them would admit it. Tsukishima and he have rolled around enough in the tangled web of soulmate bonds and whatever else that they’re inevitably connected by.

And it doesn’t feel like it’s going to change any time soon.

Which is, frankly, both nonsensical and terrifying.

That last thought is what pushes him though, what makes Tobio reach up swiftly, with the hand that just moved Tsukishima’s wrist and tangle it in hair that’s silky enough he almost feels bad tugging on it. 

If nothing else, they’re in sync, he doesn’t miss Tsukihsima’s mouth, even in the darkness, and their noses only barely bump.

Unlike most of the others they’ve shared, it’s not a hungry kiss, lust doesn't overpower the action and neither does need. It’s not clearly leading anywhere and where Tobio initially tugged on Tsuksihima’s hair, now his fingers are just threaded through it soothing in a way a presence in the dark is.

Tsukishima’s waist eventually cramps, he swears as he climbs more comfortably on top of Tobio, who is still half- bundled in the blankets. 

His thighs are bracketing Tobio’s hips, taut and muscular as would be expected of someone in their line of work, and the kiss broke a couple of seconds ago because it really is too dark for either of them to guarantee that maneuvering like that while also kissing wouldn’t result in a broken nose.

Tobio reaches back— without his sight, all his senses are saturated with the taste, the smell of the man above him. The fruity tang of his conditioner, the salty aftertaste of tears.

He doesn't know what he’s playing at anymore, what he’s doing and if he’s hoping to gain anything by keeping up with this. For a second, Tobio wonders how long it’s been like this, when he stopped indulging and being indulged and this all became natural. He’s been over Hinata for a long time, soulmate or not, but this,  _ this  _ has also been going on for a long time. Even at first, when he and Tsukishima took pleasure in shooting barbs and pranking each other.

Even when he kept throwing what could be happiness away and Tobio stood to the side and let him make his own decisions.

Because it’s always been like this between them.

But maybe lately it was less tacit agreement and more the fact that taking a stance would have forced him to look, would have forced Tobio to  _ see— _

It hasn’t been more than a couple of seconds, and he’s still in the middle of the most unexpected and terrifying realization of his life— more like, it has hit Tobio in the gut like a construction hammer, that he’s kind of had feelings for someone that likes to make his hair stand on end by making that loathsome squeaking sound of a fork dragging over a clean plate, for some time now— when he notices the shaking, and the fact that, aside from the aforementioned shaking, Tsukishima seems to have frozen in place.

Tobi’s hand makes contact with the blond’s forearm, but the spell is broken and Tsukishima is breathing funny.

He doesn’t know what instinct drives him then, when all he’s ever had to help with  _ this _ is booze and sex.

Sex seems to be out of the question, and unlike Tsukishima, Tobio  _ doesn’t _ keep unopened bottles of alcohol just hidden in the big drawer of his nightstand.

So Tobio, using his own strength, rolls Tsukishima off him and when the blond starts to shift to get off the bed, pulls him down so he’s lying on his side on the bed, chest pressed to Tobio’s shoulder. 

The blond’s breaths are coming short and shallow, and it’s a while still until he speaks, a while where the overbearing smell of tears fills the few inches of space between his and Tobio’s. “I'm getting snot on your pajamas—” he croaks out at last from where his face is pressed to Tobio’s shoulder. “But thank you.”

Tobio doens’t trust himself to not say something stupid— or something that might break the blond further, or push him away right now, though they’re pretty much the same thing- so he balls his hands into fists and forces himself to just hum and shift so a corner of the blankets he’s wrapped in frees up.

Tsukishima doesn’t notice how dark it is. “Oi, I’m really not taking responsibility with auntie if you get sick and die.” he says, pulling the free corner and nudging his blanket-covered hand against Tsukishima’s arm. The biting tone he’s intending barely manages to not sound absolutely fond.

For once, Tobio is very glad that Tsukishima has the largest case of myopia when it comes down to other’s feelings. 

The blond stiffens for a second, probably battling what’s left of his pride, but in the end, he takes the blanket and half-heartedly tugs it over his body, all while staying pressed up to Tobio’s side.

It’s the first time Tobio has an explanation on the tip of his tongue, in all this time.

He’s also run out of excuses, completely.

Thankfully, Tsukishima isn’t going to ask for either of those; he drifts off about twenty minutes later. Tobio figures he must be exhausted.

As for him, he takes a whole hour after that to calm down enough to even try to sleep.

But he manages.

He manages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand yeah... this wasn't Kuroo's last appearance btw, y'all know I like to flesh things out and nothing's ever simple but he /is/ one of my fave characters and he's getting his dues too.
> 
> I'd love to know what y'all thoguht esp about that scene and Kags' revelation cuz omg, I was so stoked writing them!
> 
> Love, love, love (a sleep deprived) Kyrye


	4. (again it goes) Unnoticed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You better be, I have to clean up your drunk messes once more I'm going to start charging a fee.”
> 
> Relieved, the blond laughs. “Then I’ll start charging you for making sure your clothes get washed once a month… Or I just won’t pair up your socks anymore, that would be fun to watch when we’re playing over there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo so this one took a while, life has been busy and I haven't been emotionally in the best place, but I do love writing for this story.  
> As always, thanks to [ Jules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules) who saved my ass this time and last. <3  
> I hope y'all like it.

Kageyama is a godsend.

No really, he is.

Now, Kei would never even dare think that outside of the safe confines of his shower, because it would make that bastard very obnoxious.

And yeah, _no_ , not doing that.

But the fact remains.

Because it’s been almost two weeks and he’s… not much better, and it shows. 

So Kageyama has– almost literally– been scaring concerned friends and family, who do _not_ understand that Kei wants to be alone when he’s at home, off with a stick.

Kei knows he’s being unfair to everyone, and that no one means it in a bad way, but he still feels restricted to professional human interaction and nothing more. Even with the Frogs, he’s been training mostly by himself, on serves and whatnot. It’s easy to keep everyone else at bay, now that they know he’s leaving. Most of them may still be fairly friendly, but there really is no use in practicing combinations with someone that’s going to be gone in less than a month.

Maybe he should have found a way to stay in Italy and get fat eating gelato.

No one judged him _there_.

Kei hates being treated like he’s made of glass, like he’s going to break and needs cooing and coddling and—

Right now, he’s more like shards of it, lying quietly on the floor, ready for a well-meaning idiot to come prancing in, ready to cut and hurt. 

Which is precisely why he wants to be left alone. 

But then, his family and his friends have never been anything but well meaning idiots with the boundary-understanding level of a zoo-stampede. So, he’s only partially surprised when he gets home from practice a week after the whole mess and finds Yamaguchi, Akiteru—and Saeko, _and_ Tanaka— and Yachi squeezed together on the living room couch. “I was tricked—” Kageyama’s voice comes from behind Kei, who turns, bewildered to the kitchen door, where the setter stands holding a bunch of mismatched glasses. “It was only supposed to be Yachi, and I’m not kicking your sister-in-law out.”

Kei frowns at him. “I’m calling your sister, you traitor.” He huffs, dropping his duffel bag on the floor and lamenting having used the gym showers. Maybe he can still pretend he needs a shower.

“No need, Saeko-san invited her, she’s on her way.” The setter says, eyes filled with both resignation and a little humor. “Like I said, I was tricked. Besides, this isn’t about me.” He walks past Kei, handing every person in the room a glass— in Tanaka’s case, a mug, because there isn’t a full set of glasses in the house, between Kei’s morning clumsiness and the fact that they have no issues drinking from the same bottle— and Akiteru pulls out a wine bottle from only god-knows where.

At least there’s alcohol.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” He says finally, not waiting for Kageyama’s answer before he drops heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. He knows what the other’s going to say. 

Kei is well aware that since this whole mess started, he barely touches his own phone anymore.

“C’mon Kei-kun, sit down, we’re here for you—” Saeko, who already seems to be a little drunk, croons, getting up from the couch. “And you know, Mohammed, mountains. Yachi-chan did say we were being rude, she was pretty hard to convince, so don’t hold it against her.”

Like anyone could ever hold anything against _Yachi_ . “Fine,” Kei scoffs, “But you’re only allowed to get me drunk.” He narrows his eyes at Tanaka. “And no one is allowed to take pictures. Also, isn’t Noya-san in town? At least _you_ should be busy.”

Tanaka grins wildly, arm thrown around the back of the couch. “Asahi.” He says, for all explanation. “I did ask them to come, but they were, er— busy. Kiyo is dropping by with brownies later, tho’.”

The mood isn’t smooth as they cram themselves in Kei and Kageyama’s tiny living room, and a few calls for refills are made. It feels like everyone’s expecting Kei to blow up, to either storm off or go on some sort of liberating tirade, and all their eyes and their complacent faces feel like they’re telling him it’s alright to break down. 

But Kei doesn’t feel like he has the energy for even that; he’s just tired and _sick_ of feeling like people are walking on eggshells around him. And even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of being outwardly miserable. He squirms in the corner of the couch he’s been squeezed into, just as Kageyama perches himself on the armrest, partially obscuring his view of Saeko and Akiteru all but spooning in one of the kitchen chairs they’ve dragged over.

He looks up, a little grateful as he’s handed a glass of wine. Kageyama makes a disgusted little sound in the back of his throat.

At least _someone_ understands him, Kei rolls his eyes and presses himself a little closer to the armrest, seeing as Yachi and Tanaka are squeezed beside him now, and soon Kiyoko and Tanaka are also going to be doing the gross couple thing if he knows these people.

His eyes meet Kageyama’s again, just for a second, and they exchange that sort of mocking look that has been just their,s since that one time Hinata, quite literally, stopped a ball with his face in the first year.

Everyone has started nervously making small talk, seeing as Kei is just sitting on the couch and not breaking out into song or something.

“No, but I mean, I’m kind of g-glad—” Yachi is saying to Yamaguchi. It’s a wonder she’s even here, seeing as she moved to Tokyo for college, that steely spine of hers showing when she quite literally told anyone who would listen that she’d be just fine on her own over there and not to worry. “I don’t think I’d have the time. Especially if I do move back here.”

“Uh,” Kei only realizes he’s spoken in their general direction after he actually does, and he clears his throat. “you’re moving back?” He asks, taking a sip of his wine.

She cranes her head to the side, eyes bright, having long since stopped being intimidated by Kei. “May-be.” She hums. “There’s a promotion I’m up for. T-the pay is better, but it’s a bigger workload.”

Kei smiles at her. “Well, congrats.” he says.

“It’s so amazing you’re even up for it, Yacchan.” Yamaguchi crows, and Yachi stammers out a laugh. She seems to be doing quite well, her hair is long and silky. Despite the slight shadows under her eyes, she looks happy. Kei knows she hasn’t run into her soul mate yet, but out of all of them, she always has seemed strangely unaffected by that fact. Even now, the comment about being too busy strangely suits her.

She really has come into her own, for someone who used to look at Kei like he might eat her. He can’t help the little smile that comes over his face, nor the feeling of inadequacy that comes with; it would be nice, he figures, to be like that.

Kei lets the conversation follow that particular line, glad that the focus isn’t on him, only _barely_ managing to relax into the couch and the warmth of Kageyama’s thigh beside his arm.

Kei only notices Yamaguchi’s sharp gaze when the man stands, lips pressed into a determined line. “Ok, this isn’t working. You’re gonna hide behind that wine until we’re all too drunk to stand.” he huffs, worry evident in his green eyes. There’s also an amount of determination in them that Kei hasn’t seen since his friend stormed off to find Terushima on that day in their third year of high school. “Akiteru-kun, please grab Tsukki.”

There’s some nervous laughter, like no one believes Akiteru is gonna do it— he’s always been sweeter when it comes to these things— but then there’s a familiar hand wrapping around Kei’s wrist. Part of him wants to make a scene, he feels the bilious bitterness rising up his throat.

Part of him just wants to run away.

He glances at Kageyama, whose eyes are indecisive, with something Kei can’t name swirling in the azure depths.

And yet, Kei knows he could grab Kageyama and go, leave behind this pity party of familiar faces, and have the setter drive him around until Miwa’s old car runs out of gas. He doesn’t doubt it for a second.

Even though it’s not a normal thing to do.

Even though—

No, it’s not normal, Kei realizes. Not only is this surety way too intense, but also a little pathetic on his part; Kageyama hasn’t needed him this way as much lately, and yet, Kei just keeps taking and taking, asking for more because he couldn’t handle a measly breakup. Kageyama has indulged him, but what does that say about him? Is he the kind of person that hides behind his friend— or, whatever Kageyama is— until his own despair crushes him?

He stands, shaking Akiteru’s hand off, breaking any eye contact with Kageyama. “Am I at least allowed to choose where you two are going to interrogate me?” he asks curtly, already turning towards his room. His glass of wine is drained quickly, and now hangs limply off his fingers.

Akiteru and Yamaguchi know him well enough to follow; Kei doesn’t need to look back to know that they’re there.

He actually doesn’t look back until he’s leaned over his bed and retrieved the unopened vodka bottle in his bedside drawer; this one has been there since before he and Kageyama left for Italy, as many have. It’s not that Kei is just draining bottles on a weekly basis— sometimes, when things were good, the bottles have lasted three or four months there, before he or Kageyama had something to celebrate or suffer over, or Kei simply had some party he had to bring alcohol to. That said, knowing the bottles are there does give him a bit of a reassuring feeling, which is why he keeps doing it even though it makes Kageyama eye him with that _almost worried_ look.

Kageyama thinks it’s not healthy, but he’s also someone who wouldn’t wash his sweaty socks nearly often enough if it wasn’t for Kei, so it’s not something Kei is ever going to listen to him about.

The door clicks shut behind him and light floods the room. Kei turns to find two equally worried pairs of eyes. He wants to tell Yamaguchi to turn off the overhead and let him use his bedside lamp instead; the overhead is too _bright_.

But, this might as well be uncomfortable in all aspects. 

For a second, he feels like he’s being circled by wolves, but just for a second; the hot flash of paranoia disappears quickly. All it leaves behind is an aftertaste of sadness. Kei plops down on the bed, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and breaking the seal. 

The other two do the same, Yamaguchi wordlessly holds a hand out for the bottle, and Kei hands it to him after he takes the first sip. 

In the end, It’s Akiteru that speaks first, voice careful and loving. “Just tell us you’re getting better,” He says, accepting the bottle from Yamaguchi. “It’s really upsetting that you shut everyone down like this, then decide to leave for _Europe_. None of us want to see you do something just out of pain, Kei.”

Kei takes a big breath through his nose. “I’m not shutting everyone out.” He says between gritted teeth, hands hidden under his thighs. It’s a half truth at best, he’s not surprised when Yamaguchi rolls his eyes and calls him out on it. 

“Kageyama doesn’t count, you two are joined at the hip—” He hesitates, something flashes through his face for a second, as he glances between Akiteru and Kei. Yamaguchi knows about him and Kageyama. Kei isn’t sure to what extent, it’s not exactly something that they _talk_ about, but it’s not like he didn’t run into them making out after graduation; it’s not like either of them have tried to hide it from him. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. “If anything, he enables you.”

Objectively, it _is_ true.

“’M not moving out of—” he scoffs. “ _spite_ , or anything like that. I didn’t even go thinking I’d end up moving, I just—” a sigh escapes his throat. “It’s a good offer, and I’d already quit the museum before I got it,” He looks at Akiteru, whose mouth is already half-open. “so don’t start with that.”

The older man doesn’t back off, though. “Then _why_ is it so hard to tell us?”

“I told you as soon as I landed.” Kei snaps. “Not everything needs to be an intervention!”

“A text saying _‘I got a contract in Europe, don’t tell mom, I’m telling her myself_ ’ doesn’t count, Kei.” His brother rebuffs, hand tight around the neck of the bottle they’ve been passing around. “And, by the way, she’s not happy she only got a phone call, either.”

“I’m heading down there tomorrow.” Kei says, pressing his fingers to temples that are already beginning to ache. “Look, I’m not— I’m fi—”

“You’re not.” Yamaguchi interrupts him. “We’d be more worried if you were, to be sincere, but seriously? Give us some credit, Tsukki, we're not asking you to come out singing and throwing flowers around, but we’re allowed to check on you when you literally drop off the face of the planet.”

“Kageyama-kun isn’t the best source of information on anything,” Akiteru adds. “ _Especially_ you. He keeps your secrets like you’re in some cult or something.”

The nonsensical statement makes Kei snicker, it isn’t even that funny, Akiteru isn’t a funny person. But Kei is starting to get tipsy; it’s probably that. “Why can’t you just take my word for it?” He asks, and it’s meant to come out with some bite, it’s _meant_ to sound reproachful, but it only sounds tired.

“We can.” Akiteru says softly. “If you actually give us that. We’re happy for you, we _are_ , but without any context, of course we were gonna worry.”

“Well, what do you want for context?” Kei huffs, snatching the bottle from Akiteru’s hand and taking a big gulp. “Everything went to hell, isn’t that enough?”

“No.” Yamaguchi says quietly. There’s a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth though, mostly because he knows they’ve cracked him. Everything is going to come spilling out now, they both know. Kei can’t even resent him for it. Their intentions aren't good and then, maybe he can stop being weird about having put all of this on just Kageyama— and the fact that Kageyama took it with not an extra barb— if he does this. “Now, please from the start?”

He takes another gulp of vodka, thanks the gods that tomorrow is a Sunday, and hopes he remembers very little about this conversation tomorrow.

.

.

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Meddling?” Tobio huffs, leaning away from Tsukishima’s sister-in-law, more than a little put off by how close she and the other Tanaka are. From this up close, their faces are nearly identical and he’s starting to feel antsy. “Don’t tell me you invaded our apartment just to hassle me.”

Also, the counter is starting to bite into his ass; it’s cold, and it’s not pleasant.

Saeko throws her head back and laughs in a way that’s surely going to cause noise complaints; sometimes, Tobio wonders how Tsukishima’s mild-mannered, sweet looking brother ended up with _this_. They may be soul mates, but of all people, Tobio knows best that’s not a guarantee of anything but trouble. “Oh, we’re just the backup; my dearest husband is too sweet to tackle the Beanstalk. And he probably can get past Freckles alone.”

“Besides, _you_ wouldn’t have let them in the door.” His sister’s voice calls from the kitchen door. Great, Tobio was just hoping she wouldn’t make it. “Like we don’t know you, little bro.”

Miwa is dressed in an effortless way that Tobio sometimes wishes he could emulate, or at least come up with on his own. It’s weird how she can make something that looks magazine worthy from just three or four rags, and all Tobio’s mind can only come up with different sports clothes combinations.

Her soul mate– recently discovered, too– is a model of some sort; she hasn’t wanted to give anymore details to anyone, but it probably helps.

Tobio bristles. “What do _you_ know?” he backs up even further into the counter; he can feel Tanaka’s breath and it’s starting to get unnerving. “You being here just makes it more likely this is about hassling me.”

“You should be glad to see your senpais from time to time.” Tanaka growls, even as Miwa takes a wise, practiced step in and tugs both the Tanaka’s back by the scruff of their necks, giving Tobio some space to breathe. “Everyone’s so busy these days, Kiyo and I haven’t even gotten to give–”

The kick in the shins that Saeko delivers to her brother is so swift that Tobio barely sees it connect. “She said she wanted to do it with the whole team–” she mutters and Tanaka yelps.

Tobio feels his eyes narrow, and he’s about to ask if this is what he thinks it is, but before he gets a chance Miwa is leaping for the siblings, a huge grin on her face. “Oh my _god_!” She calls. “Congrats, congrats, congrats!” she coos, arms around both their necks.

Yeah, it seems like it is. 

Saeko carefully pries her off, still grinning like the cat that got the cream. “You can keep the secret, can’t you? She’s so excited for having a little party.'' She looks around Miwa, smile faltering a little at the edges as she locks on to Tobio. “Same goes for you.”

Miwa turns around and smiles, and it’s razor sharp, the same way Tobio knows he does on the court. “Oh don’t worry, we just have to get Tobio thinking about Kei-kun again, and he’s going to forget all about it.” His sister laughs. “But, seriously, if you keep shielding him like this, I’m gonna stop joking that you like him and start believing it for real.” 

Tobio’s breath catches in his throat, his new reality being shoved in front of him so unceremoniously that freezes him to the core.

Miwa’s hand is in his hair, ruffling, and Tanaka and Saeko are laughing. And it would be alright, if this weren’t Miwa.

She sees it in Tobio’s face, before he can even try to tuck it away somewhere safe, and suddenly she isn’t laughing. 

This whole evening is a recipe spelling out disastrous things for Tobio, he realizes, because Miwa sometimes _is_ mean the way only an older sibling can be, but she never would put him on the spot like this in public, if she knew she was hitting where it hurt. 

Now, Tanaka is easy enough to fool.

But Saeko took all perceptiveness her family had to offer when she was born, and her sharp eyes switch quickly between Miwa’s retreating hand and worried face, and whatever fretting expression is on Tobio’s.

If there’s one thing the Tanakas didn’t inherit, it was subtlety.

“No way!” Her eyes are wide, as is her mouth; it takes her brother a couple of seconds to catch up, but soon they’re wearing twin expressions. “Jesus, you didn’t have to take all the teasing to heart Tobio-kun,” she says.

And suddenly, no one is laughing anymore.

Tanaka even has the gall to look angry. Like Tobio can help it, like he’s done anything to get to where he is, ill-advised feelings, transatlantic-moving, and all it entails. “Hey, you aren't gonna–” Tanaka starts, too loud, and maybe the furrow of his brow could be concern instead of anger, and maybe that concern could be for someone other than Tsukishima. Tobio doesn’t have enough time to think about it before he’s shouldering past Miwa and out of the kitchen.

Still, this is a disaster-recipe intervention-thing, so just as he’s stepping out, the front door swings open. “You all shouldn’t leave the front door unlocked,” Kiyoko scolds, turning to hang her coat in the coat rack, looking like she stepped out of one of those stupidly warm looking commercials for woolen things, or jewelry. She’s holding a reusable bag full of what looks like tupperware containers.

Tobio stares, for a moment, only now noticing that his face is so scrunched up it hurts. . He can feel the others behind him; Tanaka walks past him and sweeps her into a hug, muttering something in her ear with such grace– and a surprising amount of volume control– that Tobio knows are reserved for his soul mate, and his soul mate _only_. The sight unfreezes his body, he whirls around and heads down the hall, slamming the door to his room on the way.

Well, fuck, Tanaka knows, that’s like telling the fucking papers.

There go Tobio’s plans of just ignoring this fucking tree that decided to grow in his chest, roots attached so firmly to his diaphragm that he can’t even breathe without knowing it’s there, when he was busy doing the things he was actually supposed to be doing.

It hasn’t even been five minutes when he hears a heavy sigh and a timid knock from the door. He grunts at it, as much assent as dissent. Mostly because he’s expecting Miwa. The one that penetrates the darkened room, however, isn’t Miwa. 

Kiyoko walks on light feet over the cold tiles, until she’s sitting beside Tobio, where he's laying face down on the bed, the hoodie he was planning to wear to sleep bunched up around his waist. 

This is actually who he least expected, Tobio blinks at her, willing his eyes to focus. “...they tell you?” he asks after a few minutes, berating himself in his head for not being able to deny it. Miwa was a lost cause, but maybe Saeko would have believed him.

“Well, they were all interrupting each other, but I think I got the gist of it.” Kiyoko says gently, a hand landing on top of Tobio’s head to ruffle his head, a mirror to Miwa’s earlier gesture. “I can’t say I’m surprised, after all these years…”

Tobio wants to say that she has it all wrong, he wants to put on a brave face, because _Kiyoko,_ he can fool. 

But now that he thinks of it, Tanaka already knows. Kiyoko knowing, too, is not only a given, but the lesser of all evils, Tobio lifts his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you mean? You know we’re not–” he gestures awkwardly between them and the kitchen.

She gives him a hard, unimpressed look, like she’s saying _‘come on, you’re not as dense as everyone thinks, you can do better’_ , before scooting back so she’s sitting more comfortably on the bed. “You know, if after the last match we had when you all were first years, I hadn’t let Ryuu carry my bag, none of this would be happening.” she lays a soft hand over her stomach, and Tobio wonders if she already knows he knows it or she's just counting on him not noticing. “And we’d known we were soul mates for years.”

Pretty and poetic, and as much as it sounds like a _stupid-movie-that-Miwa-would-bawl-to_ , it’s not of much help. Tobio 's lips purse bitterly. “Well, mine is playing video games, care to guess with whom?”

He’s being mean, disrespectful even, Kiyoko is the only one not at fault here. 

But she just laughs, head falling back, short hair brushing the tops of her shoulder blades. “You know what I meant.” 

The worst is that Tobio does; Tanaka may have been hers the second she flew through the gym door– like some sort of glittery supernatural being, althougth it changes every time he tells the story– but Kyoko chose, chose the man and chose her life. And she’s happy, so it shouldn’t be out of the question—

Wait, who is he in this scenario? Tanaka or Kiyoko?

Whatever.

Maybe that wasn’t what she meant at all.

“Your husband can’t keep his mouth shut.” He grumbles into the pillow he’s shoved under his body. 

He can almost feel her rolling her eyes. “You could give him some credit.”

Tobio purses his lips. “Really? Because I know about _that_.” he says, looking pointedly at where her hand is still resting over her stomach. He immediately feels like a prick.

“So he said,” she shrugs. “I don’t care so much, it’s nee-san that’s very excited about the announcement. I think she might be wanting one of her own.” he eyes soften. “Anyway, he wouldn’t tell Tsukishima, since they barely see each other as it is—”

As if on cue, a round of drunken singing breaks out from the room next to them, where the two Tsukishimas and Yamaguchi have been shut in for around two hours now. They probably found Tsukishima’s secret brandy stash. 

“—and I’m sure Tsukishima won’t remember anything Ryuu says tonight.”

It’s true, but the helplessness that has been filling Tobio from the moment he realizes doesn’t ease with that, and if anything, it becomes more pronounced. He’s always had terrible timing, but this is just ridiculous, he realizes; something like this, he realizes, he needs time from it all— like this is any time for _feelings,_ right when he’s literally about to move to a country wherein he can _barely_ order a salad with Tsukishima as his only support.

Part of him wants to, though, part of him is greedy, it says to reach out and take; it says that there’s a chance and he should take it no matter what.

And he wants to. He's let Tsukishima sleep in his bed for most days this past week; there’s hardly any excuses he can make for this, however flimsy. He knows they won’t even put him at ease, much less everyone else.

So, he’s left between leaning into the feeling—because he’s leaving with Tobio, because it feels like, for once, he’s been chosen, even though Tobio knows it’s anything but— and he’s feeling like a horrible, horrible person.

Or, mabe, he’s trying to take the high road, something Tobio doesn’t particularly specialize in. He groans, leaning into the soothing touch at the crown of his head. “This has the worst timing ever.”

She’s quiet for a second. “Maybe so…” she drifts off, as if trying to find words that could make Tobio feel a little less like a very unfortunate movie protagonist. “Maybe so, but—”

He never gets to hear what comes after the ‘but,’ because then, the door to Tsukishima’s room opens, spilling out bright light over them, and two tall blond’s stagger out, with Yamaguchi on their heels, all three of them clearly barely able to stay upright. 

Tobio sighs and goes to get his Tsukishima.

 _His_. 

He swallows against the greed-devil in his throat, but there’s no doubt it’s there.

.

.

Kei wakes up surrounded by cool sheets and sunlight.

Which, what the hell? His room doesn’t get sunlight in the morning; it’s the only reason he ever allowed Kageyama to get the ensuite.

Oh, he must be in Kageyama’s then. That makes sense— the last thing he remembers of last night is Akiteru and Yamaguchi being _grossly_ supportive and agreeing to get as plastered as Kei needed to in order not to feel alone. It must’ve progressed from there, but it’s not like he and Kageyama haven’t fucked while out of their minds drunk before.

He stretches, feet popping out of the covers and into the freezing cold morning, sending a shiver racing up Kei’s frame. He screws his eyes shut and rolls over; Kageyama hasn’t been stealing all the blankets lately, so Kei rolls himself up in them, fully expecting to meet some resistance, maybe crash into Kageyama at some point.

But he doesn’t.

 _That_ sobers him up. 

And it _shouldn’t_.

Kageyama is one of those people— read, volleyball idiot— that can get up to train, or eat breakfast or... do _normal_ people things when their bodies are fighting near-alcohol poisoning. And it’s not like Kei has been sleeping in his bed that often as of late.

He’s hungover, though, and as such, more self-critical than usual. 

And he knows that’s not quite true.

If anything it’s been more often, it seems that the more time passes the more barriers and inhibitions drop between them

But the bed is cold, and however irritated at himself Kei is, he can’t just lie here and pretend that his stomach isn’t three seconds from expelling whatever is in it all over Kageyama’s sheets, so he forces himself to open his eyes— and who, just who, gave the sun permission to be this _bright_? It’s almost winter for fuck’s sake— and stumble over to the bathroom.

He’s shirtless, and wearing pajama pants that are neither his, nor do they fit him, as they’re just a smidgen too short.

Once he’s done, the fresh taste of toothpaste in his mouth, he trails out again, and it doesn’t seem like Kageyama ever even slept in the room, either. The sheets are twisted only around the place where Kei’s body was laying just a couple of minutes ago. Maybe the intervention-thing got a bit out of control— god knows Saeko-nee brings enough alcohol to take out a small army any time she comes out of the apartment she and Akiteru share after six-pm.

Maybe he’s just out jogging or something.

So, Kei doesn’t bother with trying to not make any noise; he’s still a little foggy from sleep and the alcoho,l so it’s not like he’d manage. The door of Kageyama’s room swings open, and he steps out into the corridor. Maybe some coffee will make everything stop feeling like it’s made of silly putty, or it will, at least, make Kei feel somewhat _okay_ with everything feeling like silly putty— lately, it feels like that’s a bunch of what his life is about.

But, something feels off; he’s reached the kitchen by the time he realizes, so the first thing he does is get some coffee in the microwave, and then lean over the counter while he waits for it to warm up. Once the cup of liquid comfort is between his hands, though, he peeks out into the corridor, trying to figure out what exactly is bothering him. The tiled floor, the walls, they all look the same they have for the past four years, down to the tiny dent in the paint from the one occasion in which Kei agreed to host a party.

It takes about a minute and several sips of coffee before he figures it out. 

Last night, he remembers looking out of his window with Yamaguchi as he said something that both made sense and was apparently so cheesy that Kei’s mind has decided to strike it from it’s records permanently. He remembers Akiteru coming up behind him,hugging him like he used to when they were kids and Kei couldn’t sleep after insisting he could watch scary movie. The three of them looked out at the scant lights of the street in front of them and the sliver of sky above and—probably, Kei really hopes this particular part of his memories he just hallucinated— sang some stupid song his mom was obsessed with back when he was five.

But there’s no light coming from his room, and not only that, the door is half closed.

Curiosity fills him— it’s his own room, why is he dithering?— and he walks over, the balls of his feet bearing his full weight, like he already knows what he’s going to find in there.

Of course he doesn’t, and for the first few seconds, he’s not sure he’s not imagining it either.

The fact that Kageyama can look the way he does right now, sleeping on top— _on top_ — of Kei’s quilt that his mom knit does not seem to compute in his brain.

Or better said, Kei stops, coffee slowly going cold in his hands. And he just— he _looks_.

It’s as mundane of an image as it can be. Kageyama is in one of his dorky button up pajamas; it’s green and checkered and would look _so_ much less out of place on someone four times less than his age. 

Kei has no idea if the other got drunk last night. It doesn’t seem like it, though, because drunk Kageyama usually can’t get the buttons quite right, and had he been drunk, Kei is sure they would have ended up in bed together. Even outside of the sex, Kageyama is a creature of habit, and also _very_ sensitive to the cold. Besides, after this long, sleeping in the same bed is less than an afterthought; it’s more than normal.

But, somehow, he seems to have consciously decided to slip into his old-man pajamas last night, and then curl up into a tight little ball in a corner of Kei’s bed, all while Kei himself slept wrapped in blankets in the setter.

Before he knows it, he has taken not just one, but _two_ steps in.

The shock of realizing that one of his hands has left the warm circumference of the cup to reach out for the figure on the bed, almost makes Kei drop the coffee and the cup on the ground all together.

He steps back— carefully, _carefully_ _—_ minding each and every one of his muscles like he’s in a game. Soon, his back is pressed to the wall of the corridor and the door to Kageyama’s room only seems like it might spell more trouble, as if Kei doesn’t have enough of that already.

He finds a hoodie in the kitchen; it’s white and gold, it smells clean.

Kei settles on the couch, with the coffee cup set on the floor in front of him, head pounding in a pain that echoes oddly behind his sternum. Outside the birds chirp, and it’s still so sunny, so sunny, there’s no right for near-winter to be this sunny.

He puts the hoodie on and dozes off.

Half of the coffee goes cold on the floor.

.

.

If Tobio had swallowed the tide of feelings savagely crawling up his esophagus the other night, maybe things wouldn’t be this awkward.

He’s sitting on the couch, sock-clad feet perched on the edge of it; outside, rain is pelting down harshly against the window, and the night is that rusty orange color that he immediately associates with big cities full of bars.

Tsukishima— or Miwa would— would probably say that it’s ironic, or something like that. Tobio has quite literally fucked the other, and been fucked by him, into unconsciousness and now, just because he felt like he was taking advantage by sleeping in his own bed—after Tsukishima insisted that was where he was sleeping— beside the blond, he seems to have lost the ability to look the other in the eye and say complete sentences to him.

Tobio really misses the times when he’d have kicked Tsukishima out of his bed and had a good night’s rest on his own.

Those are gone, though, and Tsukishima is glancing at him from the kitchen occasionally in a way that simultaneously makes Tobio’s insides do back flips and fills him with dread.

Because, the only thing worse than other people being concerned enough for Tobio’s feelings to interfere, is Tsukishima trying to talk about said feelings with him— it’s only happened like once, but the fact that neither of them are good at putting feelings into words, and that they’re both too stubborn to back down, made it one of the most uncomfortable conversations of Tobio’s life.

Especially because the feelings are about Tsukishima.

And Tobio might just run away into the mountains to avoid talking about them.

Maybe he should go for a run.

A run sounds fun, he tells himself as he stands up and stretches, spotting his running shoes by the door, a _run_ _—_

It’s as if he’s in some comedy show, as that particular thought is quickly interrupted by the booming of thunder outside, so _loud_ that it makes Tobio jump.

 _Alright_ , Tobio pleads to the gods that have never answered, _no run._

Lately, this particular god is the only one who answers is his own greed, perched in the back of his throat,

In the kitchen, Tsukishima laughs, probably having witnessed Tobio startling like a scalded cat. 

“What is it?” Tobio turns to him glaring murder, fists tightening into balls. Because, fuck it, fuck Tsukishima, and his stupid laugh, and the fact that Tobio barely gets a couple of seconds of air that isn’t imbued with all that is him a day.

Or at least, that’s how it feels.

The blond’s eyes widen slightly before he catches himself, and the surprise turns to haughty irritation, lips that Tobio has become conscious of a new curl into a sneer. “Look, I don’t know if Hinata has been listening to something on repeat for a week again, or what the hell crawled up your ass if he isn’t, but I’m not taking the blow back.”

Tobio blinks at him, slowly, breathing in the damp air of mid-November and regretting most of his life decisions. ”I want a treadmill—” he blurts out instead. “Hoshiumi has a treadmill.”

The sad thing is that it’s the most articulate thing he’s managed to say to Tsukishima in a week. The blond raises an eyebrow at him, then snorts. “Can I get basic things, like, I don’t know, cooking utensils? _Before_ you start trying to turn the apartment we haven't even moved in yet into a gym?” For a second it seems like it’s going to be all, and Tobio even manages to feel a little proud that his inarticulate distraction worked. “But that’s not it, really, do I have to find someone in Hinata’s vicinity to knock him out?”

Tsukishima has stopped pretending to cook now; he’s completely turned towards Tobio, the kitchen light is golden as it bounces off the overlong hair that curls softly over the nape of his neck.

Now, Tsukishima wouldn’t have someone knock Hinata out, but Tobio knows he’d do _something_. He’s the only person who has ever been able to. 

If only that was the problem.

“My farewell party is next Friday.” he says, gaze drifting to the side, Tobio isn’t a good liar, but maybe it’ll pass as nostalgia. “You’re coming, I don’t want to end up at a strip club again.” he says, a little more forceful

Tsukishima’s nose scrunches up. “My last game is next Saturday,” He turns to the counter again, he’s dicing those carrots horribly, but it’s not like Tobio can do much better. “But, sure, if I don’t have to drink.”

“Sure.” Tobio parrots, wishing he could go back to being blissfully oblivious and able to speak proper Japanese to Tsukishima.

What is knowing all this good for, anyway? He can't do a thing about it, it would be cruel and futile.

Tsukishima is still shaky, at best; he’s holding himself together, but only barely, and Tobio can’t get close enough right now to make sure he doesn’t crumble completely, on pain of crumbling himself.

If only Kuroo has stayed away, but it’s always Kuroo, _always_. When Tsukishima’s phone rings on the counter, the blond wipes his hands and turns it over, he looks a little relaxed at least, or maybe it’s just the light softening the sharp edges that Tobio knows are there.

And then he freezes. “—Kuroo.”

It’s always Kuroo, and this time, the name is half a plea; his gaze rises and meets Tobio’s. For a second, Tobio wants to deny it, to say no, and deny the fact that the other’s once again coming in like a stampede to trample over whatever little progress Tsukishima has made.

It would be nice, if he could do that. 

If he could do that, the voices would be long gone, too. Tobio would deny _them_ as well.

But he can't, and Tsukishima takes the call.

.

.

Expectations are a bitch, and Kei should stop having them altogether.

Apparently, Kuroo has become his personal haunting, and Kei can do no more than race down the stairs of his apartment complex, wearing one of Kageyama's hoodies and cursing whatever god just had to send a thunderstorm over Tokyo the precise night his wayward ex-boyfriend chose to call to _‘see if Kei could spare him a moment after the match next weekend’._

Asshole.

Although, not really— he was more than polite.

But he still is, because Kei says so, and he hates that Kuroo’s voice still digs into his insides even now.

And he has the gall to be listening to music now, sad music.

_The burning is so low it's concerning_

_'Cause they know that when it goes out_

_It's a glorious gone_

Crumpled in his fist, the cigarette box feels damning.

The whole _quitting_ thing hasn’t been going too well, and he really, really has to.

Tomorrow, though, or maybe after Saturday at some comfortably undecided date that falls anywhere _after_ that last hurdle and his first game with Ali. He’s probably not going to be a starter right off the bat, anyways.

When he comes back, throat burning, he’s only mildly wet– smoking under the awning of the building isn’t exactly permitted, but Kei was in no mood to get soaked again. 

Kageyama is where he left him, on the couch, but he startles and stands up when he sees Kei come in. He’s been acting like this for a few days, like he’s hiding something incriminating and it would somehow all come spilling out if he so much as held a decent conversation with Kei.

“I thought you left to see him,” he says, low and measured.

It’s like he’s trying to tell Kei it would have been okay to be weak and go to Kuroo at the drop of a hat, as if he’s saying he wouldn’t be upset. Which Kageyama never has been, that’s the whole shtick between them, isn’t it– understanding, and righteous annoyance. Then, maybe sex. But nothing else, nothing else.

But then, why does it feel like this is something else?

Kageyama seems to sag in relief, even though he doesn’t move but for his lips, which curl upward for a fraction of a second before he turns his face away. “Well, good for you. At least this time you’re not dripping on the carpet.”

There’s no heat to it, Kageyama starts to turn away, and there’s no heat to anything.

Kei 's freezing.

His shivering legs cross the living room in a long stride, his numb fingers wrap around warm smooth skin. And Kageyama looks... he looks like he can’t decide what to feel and seems to be going through emotions faster than Kei can make them out on his face.

“What the hell is going–”

But then, he’s being pressed into molten heat, and his lips feel like they’re being seared away. He can feel the hard wall at his back, and he wonders when they got this far down the corridor, but his thoughts stop short of any meaningful answer. As he and Kageyama shuffle away from the golden light of the kitchen and into the inky blue-black darkness that they know so well, Kei finds himself incapable of any meaningful thought at all.

He’s pressed into the door to Kageyama’s room, skin leeching the setter’s warmth as one of his hands fumbles behind his back for the door handle.

He’s Kei, and he’s freezing and turning into a solar flare at the same time.

And then he smells smoke.

At first he thinks it’s just his own, cigarette soaked skin, but no, he really does smell it.

He smells smoke, and now that he remembers, he left the stove on before he raced out, before he broke down, before the heat tried to glue him back together again.

“The stove–-” he mutters into Kageyama’s jaw and the setter stops for a second, looking as sobered-up as Kei feels. He extricates himself from Kei, it looks like it’s a chore for him to unclench his hands from where they are buried in Kei’s collar.

It’s a lot, Kei needs a second to breathe even though the chill seeps back into his bones the moment the contact fades.

And he has the perfect excuse to take a breath and then come back.

But when he does– _after_ dumping rice that may well be carbon now into the trash bin– The door to Kageyama’s room is closed, with the setter presumably inside.

.

.

Tobio watches him go.

Tobio watches him go, and it’s… _not_ pleasant. 

He’s standing outside of the Frogs’ changing rooms at the stadium where Tsukishima’s last volleyball game in Japan for the foreseeable future just took place. 

The Sendai Frogs won, on their own turf, 3-1 sets, they all played fiercely, and Tobio can’t help but wonder if, for all that Tsukishima says the decision to leave wasn’t all that hard to make, maybe his teammates will miss him like it was. 

Kageyama might have even spotted Koganegawa all misty-eyed when he hugged Tsukishima, but opted not to say anything, because Tobio is no good with crying people.

And even beyond that, there were more than one person crying. If this is how his team feels, Tobio really wonders how either of them will survive the barrage of physical affection from friends and family members in a week and a half.

It was kind of endearing though, because with every hug, Tsukishima just kept getting redder.

Until just a minute ago, though, because a minute ago Tsukishima’s phone vibrated in his hands and all the blood drained from his face. 

He said his goodbyes quickly, almost perfunctorily. “We’re still having drinks at the Izakaya, aren’t we?” Koganegawa is yelling at the blond’s retreating back.

Tsukishima shoots them a look over his shoulder, short curls of blond hair swaying about his ears. “Yeah, I just have an errand to run,” he says, and only Tobio would catch the tremble at the end of the phrase.

And he does.

It’s a strange feeling, this. He barely had time to get attached to Hinata, in that sense that before, his huge mouth tore everything to shreds and the ginger decided that it was not his problem that Tobio said something stupid, and that kind of happiness was something he could find through sheer stubbornness. So, that particular situation hurt, but it hurt in this hopeless way of things that have long been lost and won’t be recovered, sharp, but eventually bearable and eventually, not at all.

A broken bone is what it was, and it has since mended.

Now, this, _this_ is a gut-deep churning of acid eating at his insides, it goes on and makes him desperate to do something, and he almost deludes himself into thinking he could. He almost tugs Tsukishima back and tells him to let Kuroo go fuck himself because he knows that no matter what this ‘closure’ thing is going to end up working out, it’s going to hurt.

Tsukishima wouldn’t listen to him, anyways.

He walked through a thunderstorm away from this guy, but Tobio knows his hurt pride wouldn’t let him admit that seeing Kuroo is going to hurt, even if it’s certainly going to be too much.

It’s not that Tobio doesn’t trust him.

But his fingertips itch to fix that hurt. 

Even though he _can’t_.

So he goes to wit in the car, head thrown back, rain pelting down, and down, and down. Deafening in a way that only sound can be.

And he misses, not for the first time, how nothing seemed to be silent around Tsukishima before.

.

.

Kuroo is sitting on the bleachers, looking a lot better than he did the last time Kei saw him. Which isn’t saying much, but as Kei shoves an unruly tuft of hair away from his face, it makes him wonder how the juxtaposition must look from someone else's point of view.

At least _Akiteru_ tells him he’s looking better. The aftermath of the blurry, embarrassing conversation had him making Kei promise to skype at least once every three days, effective immediately, even though there’s still more than a week before his and Kageyama’s flight to Rome.

Kei has complied, partly because it kind of took that bump across the head for him to realize that he hadn’t called his mom in almost a month, and even his horrid breakup is no excuse for that – t’s probably because she would have known and fussed, and unlike Akiteru and Yamaguchi, she’s never wary of Kei, and he can’t say no to her.

So he Skypes him, and he’s visited his mom three times in this time.

Kei leans against the side of the bleachers.

He’s stalling, he knows he is.

But he really doesn’t know what to expect; Kuroo was cordial enough in the message, asking to meet here, now, somewhere neither of them are liable to be overcome by emotion and do something stupid.

And he spotted Kei, like, two minutes ago, when he first arrived, which is embarrassing and that’s the only thing that propels him forward towards the other man. By god, he’s not going to act like he’s afraid of Kuroo, even if he did cause the most recent emotional catastrophe of Kei’s life–

–or more like the only, long, drawn-out one… 

So, he walks over, legs feeling like lead, burning from exhaustion from the match he just played. He’s wearing his tracksuit now, thankfully, the extra fabric makes him feel a little protected, and it’s a silly thought, because when has fabric stopped them? Still, he shoves his hands deep in the jacket’s pockets as he gets closer, pointedly not noticing how Kuroo’s eyes light up and dim down again falling on some sort of parcel in his hands.

It’s wrapped in gift paper, so Kei can’t tell what it is.

Is _this_ what he was called over here today for?

Kuroo clears his throat; he’s right in front of Kei now, and Kei, knowing this is going to be a lot more awkward with one of them sitting and the other standing, takes the two steps up to where Kuroo is sitting and drops down beside him, a good half-foot of space between them. “Hey,” he says, looking at the concrete in front of him.

“Hi.” is Kuroo’s shy answer. Kei could say something, but he hates small talk, and the ease that used to exist between the two of them isn’t making an appearance. Finally, Kuroo sighs, back straining under the collared shirt he wears. “I always knew you could play great if you tried–” He says. “You know, back then?” he says, and he’s looking at Kei now, he can feel those hazel eyes on his face. “But you played even better than that today, Tsukki. I’m amazed.”

He should have expected that, really, this softer Kuroo that isn’t angry anymore _would_ veer over to saying things that make Kei’s heart tighten in his chest. “...thank you.” He answers, and then, when Kuroo doesn’t say anything else. “I’m glad that I kept playing too.”

Kuroo laughs, low and a little bitter. “How could you not?” The older man says, and for a second Kei feels like it’s out of spite, so he turns to glare, walls already coming up in full force. “Ali is lucky to have you.” But Kuroo is smiling at him, a little sad, nothing more.

Kei can feel the blood rising to his cheeks, he still has no idea what to say; everything's easier when he can be righteously angry, but with Kuroo this disarmed, it’s hard to even think about it.

At least this time, there’s no pathetic part of him pleading for the older man to love him, to take him back and fix all this. 

Kuroo clears his throat. “Anyway–” he swallows. “I didn’t just call you here to be so obvious about…” he stops and backtracks. “I just wanted to give you something.” 

He timidly holds out the package to Kei, who numbly takes it before he realizes just what he’s doing. “You don’t– I can’t accept this, Kuroo,” he says quietly, even though his fingers can’t seem to let the package go.

It 's too much.

Kuroo swallows, and Kei notices his eyes are going a little red. “It’s just a gift.” he croaks out. “I always promised I’d bring you something back from Korea, but uh– and I missed your birthday.” He nudges the package in Kei’s hands closer to his chest. “Just think of it as a present from a friend who lo–who’s wishing you the best.”

Kei can feel his own throat becoming tight, he should give whatever this is back to Kuroo, he could. He _should_. “A friend.”

“Someday?” Kuroo asks. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?” Kei echoes, taking a deep breath. “Maybe.”

Silence stretches between them, the stadium is long since empty; someone ought to come kick them out soon. It’s not like Kuroo can commandeer an entire stadium, right? Kei licks his lips, hands fiddling with the gift wrapping. “Can I open it?”

“O-of course.” The surprise in Kuroo’s voice is tangible.

So, out of awkwardness, mostly– and because it feels final, somehow– Kei does.

It’s a surprise, but also not, when the familiar shape comes into view.

“I really wish I wasn’t such an ass, you know?” Kuroo starts. “And I really wish you can forgive me at some point for not seeing things sooner. I know there’s no chance for things to go back to how they were, and they probably shouldn’t. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you.” There’s a warm hand over Kei’s now, and he only just realizes his eyes are full of tears. “And I really wish you wouldn't lose something you love because of me.”

The headset is top of the line, a deep purple-blue, the kind even Kei never thought to splurge on.

“It’s a bit late for that.” Kei says through gritted teeth, because it’s been more than a month now and it should be, it should be.

Kuroo sighs. “That's not my choice to make. But I’d like to have you in my head–” he sniffs, and when Kei looks up he’s trying to. “In whatever capacity I’m allowed to.”

Speechless, Kei runs the pads of his thumbs over the cardboard of the box. “I don’t think I can give you that.” He says, some bite coming back to his voice. “You can’t–”

“I know.” And Kuroo does, it’s all over his demeanor, he’s not commanding Kei, he’s _barely_ even asking. He’s just saying there’s nothing for him to feel guilty about, but he doesn’t understand. If it were something as simple as Kei not wanting to be a bother, all the pain would have overridden it a long time ago. Kei might have even been petty about it. If he had wanted to, those first few days he would have made it hell for Kuroo to be awake. “Don’t give me anything Tsukki, I just don’t want to hold you back.” 

It’s more complex than that. Kei can’t bring himself to listen to music. Even when he wants to.

Even if he did.

Still, as the tears dry around his eyes, never having fallen this time, and he can’t help but feel a little warmth towards Kuroo. Maybe it’s the vulnerability, because Kei knows this is partly selfish on his part, but it seems like he has at least put some thought to his words, like he knows he can’t fix what he broke, but soothing it a little might go a long way. “Thanks, I guess.” Kei says, and then, because he can’t help himself. “I don’t regret that it’s you either, but…” he trails off.

Kuroo huffs, and Kei focuses on the wetness drying on the cuffs of his shirt. “I know. It’s a shame, but I know.”

And for a few minutes, they just sit together in the darkness.

.

.

Tobio expects more of a mess.

Although in retrospect, he shouldn’t have. He’s seen the little changes since everything went down. Tsukishima is not expressive by definition, and his very nature conditions a snail’s pace of building ways to cope that are actually sustainable, but he _does_ do it. 

When he quietly slips into the car, with eyes that are slightly red but not rubbed raw, and a box between his hands, Tobio has to take a moment to just watch him. 

The first thing Tsukishima does is take off his glasses, and he retrieves a small square of fabric from the glove compartment; he breathes over them to fog them up and make the cleanup easier. His eyes look a little bigger like this, clearer and framed with eyelashes as thin as insect’s feet, the same color as spun caramel. By now, his hair is long enough that he has to tie the top part back for games. It would look a little silly if it didn’t suit him, and Tobio is a little sad that Miwa’s offer to braid it close to his scalp is never going to be taken.

As for the rest it’s the Tsukishima he knows, the one he’s seen grow and ache and toughen up.

This time, the feeling in his chest doesn’t feel uncomfortable; it fits in a way it hasn’t before, it falls into place.

“Stop looking at me like that, Kageyama, I’m fine.” He says finally, slipping his glasses over the bridge of his nose. “He wanted to give me a birthday gift.”

Tobio squints at the half-unwrapped box. The picture at the top is of some fancy headset. Tsukishima hasn’t pulled it out yet, probably won’t today. “Are…” the words get stuck in his throat; normally, he doesn’t have to ask. Normally, there isn’t this air of quiet stillness around Tsukishima that could either be the brine-y prelude to a storm or the winding down from one. “Do you…”

The corners of Tsukishima’s mouth curl up. It looks like he’s trying to make it mocking, but the smile looks a little too soft for that anyways. “What? Are you worried about me, King?” he asks, pulling the seat belt over his chest and buckling it. “I’m so touched.”

It’s mostly how light hearted the sarcasm sounds that gets to Tobio, he has to look away, eyes firmly on the darkness of the parking-lot ahead of them. “You have a stupid amount of in-laws that keeps blowing up my phone–” he’s smiling too, he realizes and it’s not a wide smile, but his cheeks hurt. “I’m allowed to be relieved.”

“You’re the one that keeps picking up.” Tsukishima huffs, arms crossing over his chest.

Tobio thinks that’s it, so he busies himself by twisting the key in the switch and feeling the car come to life under him. The swift pedal-work that is usually mechanical feels a lot more intentional today. He turns to Tsukishima, mouth already half open to ask, only to see that the blond is already setting up the GPS in his phone. The pale blue light casts weird shadows across his face.

He can’t help but smile a little to himself as he turns his attention back to the front, starting to pull out of the cramped parking lot space immediately after. Tsukishima seems to have been waiting for this, though, because he clears his throat and Tobio answers with a hum, fully expecting to be told to take this or the other street to get to the Izakaya where the Frogs are waiting. “Hey, Kageyama–” It’s silent in the car, it stopped raining a while ago. “Thank you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t elaborate; he knows he doesn’t have to. 

And Tobio can’t even be too outwardly gobsmacked, because he is trying to wiggle out from between two cement columns and Miwa would be pissed if he crashed her car a week and a half before leaving the country. He feels his heart swell in his chest. For the longest time, this whole thing between him and Tsukishima has been a tacit agreement that it’s never a bother, but also, never to be made big enough of a deal that it requires mentioning.

Tobio can’t help the way his breath catches on the edge of those words. “You better be, I have to clean up your drunk messes once more I'm going to start charging a fee.”

Relieved, the blond laughs. “Then I’ll start charging you for making sure your clothes get washed once a month… Or I just won’t pair up your socks anymore, that would be fun to watch when we’re playing over there.”

Over there, suddenly Tobio can breathe again. That’s right; they’re leaving together, they’re going to the highest stage. So he just laughs, they’ve already reached the parking lot exit. “Which turn?”

Tsukishima hums. “It’s rush hour, so it makes no difference.” He says, and then. “Take a right.”

He falls asleep about halfway to the Izakaya, head pressed to the fogged-up window. It takes Tobio a full fifteen minutes after he parks to wake him, having spent most of them resisting an urge to brush the soft curls away from the blond’s forehead.

Gods, he _really_ is fucked, isn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a transitional chapter, but next time! The move!  
> I would love to know what you all thought of this
> 
> Love and hugs, Kyrye


	5. (the placing goes) Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But this isn’t a stupid movie, so he leans in and kisses Kageyama anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well whoa, I had a blast writing this chapter, it's always nice to make things move along a little.  
> I hope you're all having great holidays!  
> [ Jules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules) who saved my ass this time and last. <3  
> is my hero/beta.

The option of burning everything he owns and just buying things anew in Italy is becoming more and more appealing by the second.

There are only so many things they can ship halfway across the globe without it being extremely expensive, and Kei’s having trouble sorting through his posessions. Maybe he should just make a system, with rules, so he won’t just sit staring at a particular sweater that hasn’t fit him in five years before chucking it to the corner of the room in the ‘no’ pile. 

Kageyama — who just dumped all his older clothes in the charity box — is watching him from the corner of the bed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Damn it, isn’t Kei supposed to be the smooth, rational one? Kageyama should be the one trying to keep the shoes he first played Pro with, or his high school hoodies, or something.

Of course, he does have a box full of shoes, so who’s to say he isn’t?

“I thought we could buy anything we were missing over there,” Kageyama mocks in a high, squeaky voice, a smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “It’s Rome, not the jungle, Kageyama.’” He mimes, and Kei does  _ not  _ sound like that. He feels like if he were a cat, he’d be hissing.

The uneasy feeling isn’t new; it’s only gotten worse as the day of their flight has approached, what with stripping their apartment bare and doing all the annoying paperwork —  and actually saying goodbye to his family. So, today, two days away from their flight, wearing a thick sweater that manages to be huge on him and which Kei has no memory of ever buying, and sorting through his closet in a way that somehow feels more like browsing though his own innards, Kei feels like a live-wire.

His room is already not his room anymore; only the bed and his mom’s quilt remain untouched. 

It’s better than Kageyama’s, though. Even the bed’s gone from that one, and he’s supposed to sleep on the futon tonight. Usually, that’d be code for him just conning Kei out of half his own bed and all his blankets, but with how restrained he’s been as of late, it’s probable he’ll actually sleep in the dusty old thing. 

“Well, forgive me for not having Division 1-level savings, your Majesty.” Kei bites back, eyes drifting down to the way Kageyama’s perfectly manicured fingers keep playing with the threadbare hem of the jacket he’s wearing.

It’s Kei’s, or it was, a long time ago.

“You have more savings than I do.” Kageyama huffs, tugging a shirt out from under the pile of clothes between them on the bed. “Isn’t this from that play your class put on in third year?”

“I do no — how do you even  _ know _ that?” Kei snatches the shirt from Kageyama, indeed it is, a very misguided adaptation of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ in which he was quite literally forced into the title character’s role because he really wanted nothing else to do with the festival and it was the only way he was getting just one task. Also, everyone voted him in, god knows why. The cheap fabric is yellowed, the ruffles on the wide necked chest and the arms are so thin they’re almost transparent. “Ugh-” Kei narrows his eyes at it. “Horrible.”

It gets thrown straight into the ‘no’ pile.

“You ramble when you’re drunk.” Kageyama shrugs, and Kei doesn’t remember ever talking about it, but he doesn’t remember a bunch of things. He might well believe it. “Yachi still has the pictures somewhere — ” the setter’s smirk turns even more sly. “You should keep the shirt, maybe it fits you now.”

That’s the thing; the shirt, purchased from a second-hand store, had not fit Kei’s shoulders at the time and it kept slipping off his shoulder. “You wear it, if you like it so much.” He grunts, shooting Kageyama a venomous glare. The damned thing  _ would  _ fit Kageyama, wouldn’t it? Broad as he is — as they both are — now. 

And his mind did  _ not  _ just go there; it’s just an informed observation.

Kageyama chooses to not answer then. Instead, he looks down at the clothes, the pile is about a third of what it initially was. Apparently, Kei keeps way too much stuff that he doesn’t need. The ever growing pile of rejected items is a testament to that.

The pile seems to be serving as a barrier too, a physical representation of the distance that Kageyama has put between them; even now, he’s in the opposite corner of the bed. 

Kei notices, but it doesn’t mean he knows what to do about it, or if it’s even something he should intervene on. The setter has made it clear that he isn’t interested in help of any kind, and if Kei can’t do anything, then trying seems tiring and futile. And he’s been  _ so _ exhausted lately, even though the cold, sad fog of the Kuroo- _ thing _ seems to finally be blowing over, it’s like it took any and all reserves of energy Kei had with it.

He picks up an old dinosaur shirt. That one still fits, it gets rolled up and lovingly put in the box by Kei’s feet.

He can feel Kageyama’s eyes on him.

Kei grits his teeth, even if there’s nothing to do. “I’m going to sleep.” Kageyama says hastily, hands deep in the hoodie’s pockets. “Run tomorrow?”

Of course. Kei shrugs. “If it’s not raining.” 

The bed shifts under him, Kageyama’s weight leaving it swiftly. Kei feels him hesitate at the doorway more than sees him. He doesn’t look up from the sweatpants he’s holding; Kageyama isn’t going to ask, and as much as Kei thinks that he should offer, it feels like stepping over a line — a line that wasn’t there a month ago and is all the more obvious for it.

That thing between him and Kageyama was never supposed to start, so it’s no wonder it seems to be ending, dying a slow death.

He can’t decide if it’s a good thing, but it doesn’t feel like one.

“Achoo!” There’s a sniffle from the other room and then another sneeze. “ACHOO! Damn dusty thing!” He hears Kageyama grumble on his way to the bathroom. “Oi! Did you take the allergy medication?”

“It should be behind the cotton balls!” Kei calls, a little amused at how congested Kageyama seems from just three seconds around the futon. “It’s probably not going to help. We haven’t taken that thing out in three years. Just sleep on the couch, king.” He says, a snicker cutting him off mid-sentence.

Kageyama peeks into Kei’s room, nose already a bright red. “Ha ha. You know damn well the couch is too small,” he huffs. “Idiot.”

He does look pretty pathetic as he trails back over to his room, and a couple of minutes later Kei can hear another barrage of sneezes coming from there. 

It would be pretty inconvenient if his housemate died drowning in his own snot just two days before the move. That’s the only reason Kei stands up and goes to push Kageyama’s door open. Light falls over the setter’s balled up form, and Kei can hear him sniffling. “I’ll share my bed if you don’t steal all the blankets.” He grumbles, looking away when Kageyama peeks out of the bundle. 

“I can deal with a little — achoo” he sniffs. “Dust.”

Kei rolls his eyes at him. “Your funeral.” 

He goes back to his room, back to sorting through the clothes, dispassionately this time, anything not new enough ending up in the charity pile. He can afford to get more clothes in Italy,  _ why  _ is he even doing this?

Kageyama’s sniffling is audible when he comes into the room. Kei looks up, making sure his smirk is just the right amount of mocking as the setter pads over to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers with a pinched look on his face. “I hate you.” He says, when Kei snickers.

“Get off my bed then.” He huffs back. Dropping the last of the clothes in the charity pile and handing Kageyama a tissue box from his nightstand. “Don’t get snot on my sheets. “ He says as the other blows his nose into one. “That’s gross.” It earns him a particularly annoyed glare, even as Kageyama starts curling into what will most certainly end up being a blanket burrito around his form. 

It’s not common to see him like this, his hair is splayed over the pillow, and he looks as tired as Kei feels. He doesn’t think they’ve gotten into bed together like this before, with the lights still on and their clothes fully on their bodies. There’s no mood to it either, Kei realizes this is about as sexy as that dust-infused futon. Most of it is Kageyama’s still dripping nose, probably.

He seals the box with tape, and, with nothing else to do, takes his socks off and gets under the blankets.

Some stupid part of him calls for Kei to curl up and lie facing Kageyama, which makes no sense and would be doubly awkward because the other still can’t breathe smoothly enough to fall asleep, and what’s he going to do? Stare at the fucker’s red nose until he falls asleep?

He really is tired, huh?

Kei reaches above the headboard and turns off the light, and sleep — sleep comes more quickly than he expects.

.

.

Tobio hates it.

And he hates that he doesn’t really hate it.

This giddy, gleeful feeling that’s almost innocent enough as to be passed off as anything else.

Almost.

Then again, it’s everything but innocent; it’s gleeful because it’s possessive, it’s giddy because it’s satisfied. It’s something that claims, something Tobio knows full well he doesn’t have, even if Tsukishima is sitting in the window seat beside him and their forearms are just barely brushing against each other on the armrests. 

“Have you decided which of our menu options you would like for your meal, Sir?” The hostess’s voice snaps him from his thoughts Tobio turns to her, and the woman goes pale as a sheet. 

There’s a quiet snicker behind him and then a hand on his shoulder. “We both want the pasta, he’ll take the white sauce.“ Tsukishima says softly, in barely accented English that makes Tobio’s mouth go dry. “And wine. Red, please.” The woman jots it all down quickly, then leaves, still looking like she’s just seen a ghost. “You know, you don’t have to scare the poor staff. We’re lucky enough that Ali paid for half the tickets again. I don’t want to get kicked out.”

“I — ” Tobio turns to frown at him. “We’re in a plane, how are we getting kicked out? And I’m not scaring anyone.”

“You literally looked at that poor girl like she stabbed your volleyball, Kageyama.” Tsukishima snorts. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, you’re  _ that  _ wound up over it.”

Now, since the direct approach hasn’t worked, Tsukishima has taken to shooting Tobio little barbs like that. It’s really useless to try to deny it, because the blond will only laugh at him. So he’s left to fume, and today —  tonight? What time is it, and where is Tobio even? — he’s extra annoyed at the world because earlier he had to deal with three full hours of —

“Wedding music.” The words slip past his lips without his permission in a strained sort of drawl.

Tsukishima’s face scrunches up in understanding. “Oh.” he almost looks guilty as he glances down at the way Tobio’s hands are gripping the fronts of the armrests. “That sucks.”

Tobio just very pointedly looks at the headrest of the chair in front of his. Fuck him, he’s the one who kept pushing.

Not that Tobio just said the truth or anything.

Although the wedding music  _ is  _ annoying, especially whatever they keep pausing and repeating. He can only imagine it’s supposed to be for the first dance, as much as he tries not to think about it. “You could take the pills.” The blond offers, voice low. “It really isn’t that bad.” He must see the hypocrisy in the statement because he looks guiltily down at the quilt over his lap. 

Rolling his eyes at him, Tobio turns to face the blond. “You mean after the puking stops?” He asks in a drawl. “It’s fine, annoying but fine. I think I’m starting to learn Portuguese though, ugh.” 

Tsukishima throws his head back, a bark of laughter escaping his throat. The elegant, elongated line of his neck tugs at something in Tobio’s chest and, it really isn’t fair, any of this. “I wish it was that easy, King.” He laughs again, and Tobio’s chest tightens. “Why don’t you get around to learning a little more Italian instead? I’m not going to be ordering for you all the time.” He takes a deep breath, hesitates for a second “Do — ” He cuts himself off, head snapping towards the window.

“Hm?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Tsukishima waves him off, and it only makes Tobio want to know even more. 

He sighs, stretching out his fingers from where they just were wrapped around the hard front of the armrests. “Just ask.” He grits out, even though he knows that if even Tsukishima doesn’t think it’s prudent to ask, it’s probably not going to be a good thing. It’s hard to imagine what it might be, though, because they already know all the other’s ugly secrets.

With one notable exception.

Tsukishima’s amber eyes turn to him, studying Tobio’s face before they’re back on the window. “Do you think Hinata ever regrets giving up on — ” he gestures at Tobio, like the word soulmate is just too much for him to say. It’s not like he  _ doesn’t  _ understand.

Over the years, the fact that Hinata did that has made quite a few people admire the ginger, or even envy him. It’s not easy and much as it does hurt Tobio, he deserveS the praise.

Because it was Hinata that set the pace, him that didn’t let himself become the sad leftovers of an idiot with no emotional intelligence. The one who said  _ ‘Don’t need me? Well, I need you even less,’ _ and proceeded to build himself a life even Tobio could be envious of. By the time he got his head out of his ass, it was all set up. He never stood a chance when someone who  _ got _ it turned up in front of Hinata, all too willing to give him what Tobio failed to even think of. Truth is, he fucked it all up, and it was absolutely Hinata’s right to do what he did, even if no one expected it. 

He probably doesn’t think soulmates are all that anymore.

Which is a little sad, but in the grand scheme of things, maybe it’s for the best.

The question is unexpected, and he can’t say it doesn’t hurt. “No, you know how that idiot is.” he shrugs, trying to keep his eyes steady. “Of course he doesn’t regret that.”

_ But I do, _ he thinks to himself, and he knows Tsukishima knows without him saying.  _ Just a little, but I do. _

In a way, he understands Kuroo, loathe as he is to admit it. He’s sure that had Tsukishima given him a glimmer of hope, he’d have turned the world upside down for the blond.

But, well, here they are.

He can feel Tsukishima’s eyes on his face, but Tobio does his best not to meet them. 

There’s a sigh from the blond, before something nice-smelling and soft lands over his lap. Tobio looks down at the pretty quilt draped over both their laps, then up at Tsukishima who’s looking out of the window again. “Sleep.” he says and his voice is just that smidgen softer that makes it so that Tobio has to take a deep breath. “If you keep stumbling at Qatar like the last time, I’m letting you fall on your face.”

.

.

This has got to stop.

When he imagined going furniture shopping with Kageyama, he did expect little resistance in his choices from the setter. After all, they did get the treadmill that Kageyama wanted. 

But this, this is too much.

“I’m getting this one.” Kei says, pointing at a sofa that looks stiffer than tree bark and also happens to be upholstered in traffic cone orange leather. It’s a test, and Kageyama doesn’t pass. 

“Sure.” He says, a dogged look in his eyes that refuse to meet Kei’s at all. 

Now, he could make a scene in the middle of this furniture store, between the garishly orange couch and the water bed that promises  _ ‘lots of bouncy fun, ideal for couples,’ _ but would that take him anywhere? No, Kageyama is too stubborn, and since he seems intent on lying like the dirty, bad liar that he is — saying there’s nothing wrong and it must be  _ Kei _ that’s antsy or something — he might just storm off or go sit at the chairs that the store offers, no doubt for husbands that have quite clearly been dragged here against their will, at the front.

And that’s like, three steps back from the starting line, so Kei purses his lips and none too subtly walks past the orange couch.

It’s weird, this whole thing is —

_ Awkward _ .

Which his relationship with Kageyama hasn’t been, since that one time in third year when they literally had to hide behind a bunch of mats while a visiting Sugawara and Sawamura made out in the equipment room that Kei and Kageyama had previously been using for the exact same purposes.

Ugh.

What to do?

“…that looks comfortable.” Kageyama mutters behind him, and when Kei turns to look at him, a little surprised, he finds his eyes are still lost back in whatever it is he’s thinking about. He’s pointing at a very ugly, giant puff.

It’s different shades of brown depending on where you look, and the little fuzzy hairs are just a bit too long, giving it the look of something made of actual fur. Kei takes a step towards it and lets his hand sink in. “It clashes with my color scheme.” It really,  _ really _ , does, and it still would, even if it didn’t look ready to sprout teeth and devour either of them. Still, when Kei pushes down on it, it has just that little bit of firmness as to not be plain uncomfortable. 

Kageyama is looking away again. “Hm.”

“We’re taking it.” Kei says, decisively. At least that gets Kageyama to shoot him a surprised look. “It’s pretty cheap.” He hums, trying to seem casual. “We should get weights too.”

“Tsk,” Kageyama looks away again. “Whatever.”

And it’s the straw that snaps Kei’s back.

Maybe Kei  _ is  _ up to making a scene in the middle of a furniture shop. “Can you please just tell me what crawled up your ass and died?” he huffs, adding the puff’s reference to their growing pile. It might not be such a good idea to be furniture shopping when they haven't even unpacked yet too, fuck, his head is starting to hurt. “Seriously, I know you’re going to keep being bitter, but at least satisfy my curiosity.”

It seems to be the end of the rope for Kageyama too, whose eyes flash like a turbulent sea when he turns around. “Just cut it out already, Saltyshima.” He grits out. “Cut it out!” He’s speaking louder than normal, heads are turning to stare at them. 

“What if I don't?” Kei says, taking a step towards him. “It’s not like you can make me.”

The sentence is an echo of many,  _ many _ , instances in their third year, and then after moving in together. By the end of it, it wasn’t even a challenge, just foreplay of sorts, never to be used in such a public place, but Kei is sick of this whole thing getting under his skin, and if he needs to get a rise out of Kageyama right beside the fucking ugly puff, he’s damned well going to. “Oh fuck you.” Kageyama seethes. “Fuck you, and your stupid need to know, just because you fucked up your own life doesn’t mean I’ve asked you to meddle, so just — ”

Kei is frozen, the little vault of hurt that still exists deep in his chest bursting open, showering his insides with bitterness. “Fine then, I’ll go fuck things up somewhere else.” He says, shoving the reference box into Kageyama’s hands. “Since you’re  _ so _ fine, I’m sure you can handle the sales shit — ”

He’s already three blocks away from the mall when he realizes maybe he blew it way out of proportion. And maybe, he was the one that made things go awry in the first place.

Kageyama is acting like a kicked dog, though. 

He flags down a cab, not in the mood for trying to figure out the public transport system right now. It’s bad enough that he has to try and figure out Kageyama, whom he thought he knew down to the marrow of the setter’s bones. This thing between them has never been much about talking in the first place, but Kageyama seems to have decided to shut down mentally now, too, and all the other times, Kei has known in some capacity what was going on. He doesn’t believe for a second that this is about Hinata either.

He presses his forehead against the cold glass of the window and sighs.

Why does he care so much? Kageyama wants no help, so  _ what _ ?

Maybe it’s just that Kei has been leaning on him so much lately and the change is jarring, maybe it’s that he feels like there’s a stupid imbalance between them and wants to fix that.

It sucks.

He arrives at their apartment complex, so lost in his thoughts that he only realizes he’s climbed an extra floor when a Christmas decoration on the door alerts him to it.

It’s a lot like the one they had back home.

Fuck.

This is not going to leave Kei alone, is it? He’s going to have to find a way to work Kageyama out of this rut if he wants some peace of mind for himself. There isn’t much that he can do though; the only thing that has ever helped hasn’t been working lately. 

Although, then again, it’s not like Kei has been trying to make it work, not since that night when he started crying and —

That’s not a good memory, so he shuts it down, but it might just have something to do with it. After all, who would want to sleep with someone that just burst out crying like a five-year-old last time, much as Kei did need that?

Perhaps, going back to the basics would be helpful, though, somehow overwriting that stupid instance of weakness. It won’t be easy with how pigheaded Kageyama can be. And  _ does Kei even want to? _

Kei looks out at the street; the trees are almost bare, just a few orange leaves cling to their branches.

He  _ does _ want to _. _

He can try at least. 

Taking a look at their empty apartment and the winter sunlight seeping in from the faraway window, Kei shivers. He should go make some tea, maybe smoke a cigarette— even though he's _really_ trying to quit now, he swears.

He should think something up.

.

.

For a few hours, Tobio’s world is back in place.

The smell of rubber and polished floors, with a faint undercurrent of bitter sweat, make him feel like he’s right where he belongs.

His first practice with Ali is delightful. Working with world-class players is always invigorating. And working with Tsukishima — well, he’ll just say he missed it. Just a little. Just enough for it to be exhilarating when they push the blond into a back attack formation and Tobio’s fingertips feel like liquid fire when he sets the ball towards the blond.

And even more so when he hears the  _ ‘slap’  _ of flesh against rubber, and the resulting  _ ‘thunk’  _ of the ball on the gym floor.

For a second, he turns around and he’s smiling and Tsukishima is so close to grinning that Tobio takes a second to savor it before he lets his heart go haywire in his chest.

Just a second, of course, because then Tsukishima’s face sets back into that determined look he’s been wearing for the past few days —  since Tobio came back home, accompanied by the truck from the furniture store, to find the blond calmly sitting on the floor, a fresh cup of tea sitting between his hands; twin to the one set out for Tobio in the kitchen — and Tobio just  _ knows  _ this whole thing isn’t over.

He wishes he could lie, but he’s terrible at it, even in the best of situations.

And sharing an apartment with someone he often has an urge to do mushy, soft, things with, someone who  _ also _ knows Tobio well enough despite his best efforts to act like he doesn’t, wouldn’t be enough, isn’t exactly the best of situations.

Oh, to hell with this whole thing. He’s not who Tsukishima wants; he’s not who anyone wants, in that sense at least. Tobio thought he’d long since made pace with that fact, but so it seems, he hasn’t.

And Tsukishima is just so close he  _ could  _ reach out and grab him.

He  _ wants _ to.

But it feels wrong; it feels like he’s using someone who might just feel bad for him and— _and_ _—_

If it’s like that, he’d rather choke on his greed.

Nothing happens that night, though, or the next one,  _ or  _ the next one. Tobio has almost managed to calm himself down when Friday rolls in; maybe Tsukishima will just drive himself in circles until he drops it. The thought makes him a little bitter, but relieved at the same time. He may suck at lying, but he can keep his own mouth shut, no problem.

Tobio isn’t lucky like that, though. 

It’s winter-dark already, and it’s not even seven, when they’re walking home on Friday night, both fresh from the locker room showers. Tsukishima is wearing a goddamn coat that somehow doesn’t make him look like a two-meter tall penguin, but gives him a shape that someone with better vocabulary than Tobio might call sophisticated, and a cream scarf that brings a little color to his skin. 

Tobio looks down at his own thermal track jacket and pants ensemble.

“Lets get some wine.” Tsukishima says suddenly, eyes in front of them, the request so casual that it’s obviously been practiced. “And lasagna,” He meets Tobio’s tired glare. “To go?”

At least Tobio’s mouth is faster than his brain when it comes to this; before he can get over his surprise, he’s already answering. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest ice cream.” He quips, hands burying deep in the pockets of his jacket. They’ve barely spoken outside of practice since the argument they had at the mall. “Sure, I’m hungry.”

It can’t hurt, right? Maybe things will feel a little more normal. Tobio isn’t in a mood to eat outside, anyways. 

It’s quick, from there. Tsukishima knows just where he’s going, and when that one tries to be efficient, there’s hardly anyone that can match him. Before Tobio knows it, he’s inputting the password in the fancy electronic lock of their front door, Tsukishima — arms laden with bags — right behind him, complaining about the cold.

That’s when Tobio realizes he’s kind of in a corner, and that be it as it may, it’s been harder not to engage Tsukishima for fear of doing something weird than anything else.

He does crave their normal, the ease built over years of quite literally having seen each other grow up, through the respective bad parts of their lives. The thought hits him that maybe, he could have that again — not all of it, of course, since Tsukishima clearly isn’t interested anymore — but if he’s careful enough, it might ease some of the load, and that would always be preferable to all the avoiding he's been doing.

The blond walks past him, the curls of unruly, post-practice blond hair swaying over the tips of his ears.

Tobio steps in too, closing the door softly behind him. The lock barely makes a sound.

It might just be nerves, but somehow, somehow he feels like prey.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Tsukishima says, shrugging off his coat as he narrows his golden eyes at Tobio. “Don’t eat all the breadsticks.” 

With Tsukishima, that could be either threatening or playful; what’s strange is it feels like both, like he’s taking slow, small steps out of their new normalcy in order not to freak Tobio out. He rolls his eyes at Tsukishima and goes for the wine first.

Still, it’s all pretty normal. They have proper wine glasses here —  _ ’because people over here don’t know us like people from school and we can still make a good impression,’  _ or so Tsukishima said. Tobio understands, but he also doesn’t care if he’s drinking wine from a mug in front of everyone, sue him. So he flops down on the stupid puff that kick-started the fight the other day, which really is very damned comfortable, with one between his fingers. 

He set the takeout bag on the floor a while ago, right between the puff and the much smoother looking grey couch that Tsukishima picked. It’s a little more than a foot of space; generous, considering that the loft isn’t all that spacious.

When the blond comes out of the bathroom, his eyes first find Tobio’s then the bag, and he lets out a snort. “Waiting for me to serve you, your Majesty?”

“I haven’t touched the breadsticks.” Tobio says in a monotone that he knows irritates the other. He swirls the wine around his glass and tries to smirk, like his cheeks haven’t just started to burn. “Oh, and I left the wine bottle on the counter.”

He can almost hear Tsukishima’s teeth grinding as he goes to get the bottle and the empty glass Tobio set out for him earlier. “You’re such a spoiled brat.” The blond complains, when he returns, glaring murder at him. The lights are at their second-to-dimmest setting, and the low amber of them gives the blond a sort of glow. “Want me to turn the TV on too?”

Tobio shrugs. “Nah it’s all in Italian.”

“Kageyama, we’re in  _ Rome _ .” Tsukishima huffs, but reaches into the bag for the breadsticks and shoves one in his mouth before handing the box to Tobio and flopping down on the couch —  which, to the blond’s credit, is fairly comfortable too. “Are we going to keep piggybacking off my lackluster Italian?”

“Most of the international players speak English.” Is Tobio’s response. “It’s worked out well so far.”

Tsukishima sighs. “Yeah, it has.” The couch has no armrests, so he’s leaned back arms sprawled over the back in all their absurdly long glory. One of his spread knees is dangerously close to Tobio’s, and Tsukishima gives him a playful kick in the shin. When Tobio looks up, he’s wearing this look somewhere between a glare and a pout. “You’re an idiot.” He says, with no other explanation following it as he stretches forward fingers brushing over Tobio’s own while he retrieves the box helpfully labeled ‘breadsticks’.

“It — Uh — what?” Tsukishima probably doesn’t mean anything with the sudden contact, but it still has Tobio’s head reeling. He sees the other’s face light up with amusement at Tobio’s stuttering, and it only serves for his face to grow more heated. Fucking Tsukishima. “Shut up, I haven’t done anything.”

The blond smirks at Tobio around a mouthful of bread stick. “I know.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re just too trusting. What if I get homesick or something?”

Head spinning, Tobio takes a long sip of his own wine. For all he knows, Tsukishima is so homesick he’s losing it; that would explain this whole thing. Somewhat, at least. But the possibility of it still cuts deep. “Would you leave then?” he asks, hating the fact that he can’t leech all the vulnerability from it. “I’d survive — ” he grunts, “but whatever.”

Suddenly, his mood has soured completely. The dim light is making his eyes hurt; the wine is too dry, and so are the breadsticks. This should be easy, but Tobio just feels like he’s being put on the spot. And he’s not a shy person, not by a mile, much less so with Tsukishima, but what good is following this old song and dance until it just turns into a car crash? He sighs, bracing himself in the unstable filling of the puff, ready to just get his lasagna and go up to his room, but all the damn thing does is wobble under him.

Tobio is too tired for this, besides, Tsukishima’s next words, spoken into the dim dark of the apartment in a voice that’s unjustifiably low, stop him in his tracks. “I wouldn’t leave.” His face is hidden as he bends forward to retrieve one of the foil boxes in the bag, he lifts the lid and peers inside, a haughty curl to his mouth. “White sauce, this one’s yours.” He says, like he didn’t just make Tobio’s heart do a double-take.

Oh, Tobio hates him for doing this to him, and not even being bothered to know if nothing else.

Helpless, Tobio reaches for the offered container. “I know that, idiot.” He manages to say, finally, when he’s munching on a mouthful of creamy, cheesy lasagna —  so sue him, he’s hungry — “You’d shave your head before going back home like that. Tch, stubborn.”

The blond leans forward, his own lasagna, dripping red sauce in one hand, a fork in the other. “Then why did you ask?” He’s turned Tobio’s way, the lack of an armrest allowing him to face him fully, all long limbs and spread thighs and —

Tobio chugs what’s left of his wine and sets the glass on the floor beside the mug before fixing the blond with a level stare. “You started it,” he hopes the shrug looks natural. “I was just wondering. I’m tired… stupid.”

Tsukishima stares at him for a moment; he just does, eyes looking like molten gold swaying around the bottom of a dark vase. Tobio recoils from the look, feeling much more naked in this moment than he ever has, despite being actually naked in front of the blond. So, Tobio hunches in on himself, the lasagna cradled to his chest like a shield as he starts eating faste;, it’s harder to feel awkward when he’s focusing on something, and the lasagna  _ is  _ delicious, if nothing else.

Now, if the staring would stop.

It’s gone past nakedness. Now, it’s more as if Tsukishima is trying to solve him, like one of those 3d puzzles when you randomly press one of the pieces just a little harder than the others and everything clicks into place. Tobio is afraid, suddenly, that his feelings might not make for a particularly complex one. He scrapes the last of the lasagna off the container and takes a deep breath, gathering a little nerve to look at Tsukishima again even if he’s feeling like cornered game. 

Tsukishima is faster than him, though. “Are you homesick?”

Which in turn makes Tobio’s head snap up so fast he gets a little dizzy, especially since he finds Tsukishima handing him the wine bottle, and it feels so familiar that his throat closes. 

Fuck, this is Tsukishima trying to cheer  _ him  _ up, isn’t it?

A shaky snort escapes his throat as he snags the bottle from Tsukishima’s hand and lets the lasagna container fall in the bag by his foot. “No,” Tobio huffs, taking a swig right from the bottle and then shoving it back in Tsukishima’s direction. “No, I’m fine. Stop — ” Tobio can feel his cheeks flaming. “stop babying me. I mean it, I’m the one that actually planned on moving.”

Tsukishima’s lips purse. “I’m not babying anyone.”

Tobio gives him the stink eye. “You’re being worse than Suga-san.” He turns on his side, sinking just a little deeper in the fluffy puff. If he keeps up the last week’s routine, this is the part where he’d say something mean or storm off, but frankly, he’s tired and warm and his belly is full. Besides, that stupid thing in the back of his throat is gobbling up Tsukishima’s attention like crazy, and crying out for more still as it does. Tobio is tired, and he sinks even further into the puff. “Want an apron or something?”

“I — ” The blond sighs, bringing the bottle to his lips —  and Tobio  _ really  _ needs to stop staring at them, it’s not helping — and dropping his own empty lasagna container in the bag. “It’s not my fault. You’re the one being difficult.”

Tobio bristles, pushing down on his elbow to somehow prop himself up. “Name one time.” He huffs. 

“At the furniture store.” Tsukishima says evenly, not backing an inch; if anything, he sits forward, even more to the edge of the couch. 

“I let you pick everything!” Tobio protests, and then looks under himself at the same time that Tsukishima does. “Oh no, I barely said anything.  _ You  _ got the puff, Saltyshima. ,” He drops back down into said puff, crossing his arms over his chest. 

The blond looks unimpressed. “I can still return it.” He says, there’s something careful in his voice. “I kept the receipts.”

Stupidly, Tobio’s mind tries to make it seem like saying something absolutely nonsensical like  _ ‘did you keep the one for me’ _ would be in any way a good idea. He shakes his head as if that could physically get that thought out of it. Looking up he glares at Tsukishima. “No, it’s comfortable.” He mutters, half of his face smooshed into the overlong fur. “You get to have five tiny towels per bathroom,  _ I _ get the puff.”

A laugh that’s more of a relieved bark escapes Tsukishima’s throat, his glasses glinting in the amber light. “I wouldn’t know if it’s comfortable. You’ve never so much as let me lean on it.” he says, absolutely ignoring Tobio’s legitimate concern about the exaggerated amount of towels —  tiny, useless ones at that.

Tobio raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s a puff, you’d fall if you lean on it.” He huffs, knowing he’s missing the point entirely, and then softly. “Really?”

“It’s not meant to be literal, you — ” Tsukishima sighs, and then he’s reaching up to take off those glasses and it makes no sense because it’s not like they’re sunglasses or something, the difference shouldn’t be this striking. “ _ Really _ .”

It’s a split second in which he can’t look away, a split second in which there’s surely movement, but Tobio is just staring at the quiet determination in Tsukishima’s eyes. At least until the puff sinks beside his head, and then around his hips and-

Oh.

_ Oh. _

.

.

Well, shit.

This has probably been one of the longest-running, stupidest ideas Kei’s ever had.

And it’s been more than a week; he can’t even blame jet-lag anymore.

Kageyama is wide-eyed, looking at him like Kei has just struck an ice shard through his sternum and — why did he  _ ever  _ think this was a good idea? Just because Kei wants something — just because things felt better for him before, doesn’t mean that Kageyama shares his feelings on this; furthermore, he’s just veritably done the one thing they never did before. Where everything that could be offered was offered, neither of them ever demanded anything, or at least not the big things.

And he just straddled Kageyama when he clearly,  _ clearly _ , hasn’t wanted Kei like that in a while.

Even though Kei wants him.

Kei  _ wants  _ him.

And he really should become some sort of celibate monk; all these confusing, convoluted things are clearly not doing him any good. Doing this because it’s what he wants, and he used to be able to, is really fucking with Kei’s head.

Even now, the warmth leeching through their clothes is taking away from his freak out; this is a familiar room, with the walls stripped bare and the floor pulled off. This is a childhood home, full of debris and crumbled walls that he didn’t notice falling apart until they long since had.

And Kei has just stepped on a shard of glass.

Normal may not be a possibility anymore, but  _ anything  _ at all might not be a possibility after what he’s just pulled off. Just like what happened with Kuroo, only this wrecking ball Kei didn’t see coming.

“Sorry— _sorry_ , I—” He goes to move away, to brush it all off, panic simmering in his chest, rising up his throat along with the wine. 

But then, they are on a damned puff, which is soft and unstable and wasn’t meant for two world-class athletes anyways, so when Kei tries to find something solid to lean on, the damned thing gives and sinks instead. 

And he and his nearly two meters of height tumble down to the floor, landing him on his ass, right beside the empty takeout containers and the nearly-empty bottle of wine. _ Is this a new low? _ It might just be. Kei lets himself fall all the way back, laying down on the floor, hair falling over his eyes even as he gazes at the ceiling.

Even Kuroo is quiet.

Kageyama half slides, half falls off the puff beside him . It can’t be a comfortable place to be; he’s on his side between Kei’s body and the squishy monstrosity that got them where they are in the first place, and it sounded like he got a decently bad bump on his hip as he landed. 

Kei refuses to look at him, breaths coming in, quick and shallow, as whatever heat he’d managed to attain from the food, from Kageyama himself, is leeched away by the cold wood of the floor. Everything's cold and silent, and he’s sure it’s his own fucked up perception, but it seems like even the light is more dim. It’s just a question of time, he knows, before one of them has to do something, anything —

Truly, he doesn’t expect Kageyama to do anything —  leave, maybe, as it would be the kindest to Kei’s newly bruised ego, and butt — so he’s doubly startled when he feels the unmistakable calloused tips of his fingers brush through the hair that just fell over Kei’s eyes, smoothing it back into it’s usual style. The touch lingers, and the knot at the base of Kei’s throat loosens. He looks up at Kageyama through his eyelashes, the world beyond the setter blurry and amber tinted. Like this, Kei doesn’t miss his glasses. 

“Did you hit your head or something?” Kageyama asks, without the usual heat, without the usual teasing. His hand travels back, brushing through the rest of Kei’s hair, as far down as he can before hitting the floor. 

Everything feels both fuzzy and sharp, and Kei’s head is numb from all the thoughts swirling around inside. What does this mean? He thought he had Kageyama down to the detail, but clearly he doesn’t, and regardless of that, regardless of  _ that _ , he just wants Kageyama back. The familiarity, the easy smiles, and Kei has no idea what he did or didn’t do, or what exactly happened if it’s not about him, but right now he doesn’t care.

They’ve never fixed each other’s problems; solely being there,  _ understanding  _ has always been more than enough.

Kei props himself up on his elbows, leans into the touch. “Did it look like I hit my head?” He narrows his eyes as the pleasant sensation of fingertips playing with the hair at the nape of his neck sends a little shiver down his spine.

The skin between Kageyama’s eyebrows wrinkles. The crouch he’s in doesn’t look comfortable, but he seems too absorbed in the moment to care. “Shut up, I’m being nice. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He seems a little resigned — no, defeated is the right word. Like he’s been fighting for a bit, like he’s fresh out of strength. “You’re the one falling off couches.”

“I refuse to consider that thing a couch.” Kei huffs petulantly. “And you have no idea what I want.” It’s the closest Kei’s own pride will let him get, at least right now, with no cards on the table and only the look in Kageyama’s eyes pushing him forward. Said look wobbles, uncertainty almost knocking it away, so Kei sighs, gives himself a last push, this is truly as far as he can go. “Although, I did just make it pretty clear, King. Even someone as dense as you should understand that.”

-Of course, there is that shameless part of him chanting  _ IwantyouIwantyou _ , but then, when does Kei listen to that, only for things to go well?

That he pushed himself to say that, though, doesn’t mean he’s not embarrassed. Rather, Kei knows his face is bright red; he’s never had to make himself this obvious to anyone.

It takes just the right amount of time for it to sink into Kageyama, and Kei’s sure he hears the faraway sound of something breaking, but it’s hard to concentrate when what predates his ears is a high pitched tinnitus as Kageyama brings their mouths together.

It’s nothing new. It’s nothing new, so  _ why _ —

The taste of the wine that they just had is overpowering, and it fills Kei more and more with every second that he allows the other man to thrust his tongue into Kei’s mouth, to taste him in full. Because that’s what Kageyama is doing; avidly devouring Kei’s mouth, like he’s somehow been held on a leash all these years.

Kei would be concerned about this, but he loves it, and he’s not thinking straight, anyways; one of his hands grabs hard at Kageyama’s thigh, suddenly aching to have him closer, closer still. His other hand is pushing his torso up off the floor. It’s an awkward angle; even with how tall Kei is, he’s craning his head up in a way that makes his neck cramp, and a few seconds into it, Kageyama has to bring one of his knees to the ground so he doesn’t fall smack on top of Kei.

The hand in Kei’s hair isn’t rough, but it’s decisive,  _ possessive _ , and it holds Kei to Kageyama’s hot mouth in a way that makes him feel both held and like he couldn’t escape if he tried.

Not that he does; he simply leans into it with a sigh, parched after weeks and weeks of missing the feeling.

It has to end, though. The kiss, that is, because neither of them has unlimited oxygen, and when they part, they are panting. Unlike his hold, Kageyama’s face is conflicted, his eyes swimming with the stealthy yearning Kei has been seeing in them for a while as they look over Kei and everything else around them. “Come up to my room?” he asks, breathless, helpless.

Since when has he sounded like that? Why didn’t Kei realize?

Since he felt the setter’s long fingers in his hair, Kei forgot the setting, the couches, the takeout boxes, the bottle of wine. It surprises him, just a little, that he would have been ready to keep going— happy to, even— here, on the cold, hard wooden floor.

If this were their other apartment, back in Tokyo, there would have been lube between the couch cushions anyways.

Dazed, heart pounding in his ears, Kei nods.

.

.

There’s nothing to be nervous about.

But Tobio feels like he did at the Olympics, right before serving for the first time.

Giddy, almost smug, but also like a stiff wind could blow him over.

To be fair, Tsukishima looks to be feeling the same way, all the reckless heat from downstairs gone, fizzed out as they walked past the door to the blond’s room and straight through the one to Tobio’s. “Stop staring.” He huffs, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed, bottom lip red from being tugged between his teeth.

His room is still mostly bare, save for the bed sitting unmade in the middle of it, and the desk shoved into a far corner that Tobio doesn't think he’s going to use very often anyways.

Tobio can’t help but smirk a little, even as he brushes shaky hands up Tsukishima’s still sweater-clad arms, reveling in how soft the material is at the same time that he just wants to tug it off. “Are you sure you can see far enough to know I’m staring?” he teases, definitely staring.

The blond makes a little, frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his muscles ripple under Tobio’s fingers as he kicks the door closed, as if someone could catch them here. Then he meets Tobio’s gaze, golden eyes heavy with the finality of the action, almost unsure.

An involuntary breath escapes Tobio’s lungs as the fire of greed, that’s slid down to the pit of his belly, roars. It reminds Tobio that he’s done trying to resist this, trying to untangle Tsukishima’s motives into a  _ why _ , and a  _ since when? _ Partly because he’s sure the blond isn’t thinking about those things himself, partly because every conclusion that Tobio comes to —  this past week being a shining example — seems to be wrong.

Tsukishima is a big boy, he can handle himself.

For once, Tobio can’t spare him any strength; he’s too wound up and twisted from his feelings alone. 

His hands are still shaky when he slides them under the sweater, but the warm, firm feeling of Tsukishima’s torso under his fingertips soothes him, somewhat, as does the way the blond leans into it, shoulders hanging back, arms lax. Like he’s inviting Tobio to just get rid of the damn cashmere-or-whatever-it-is.

Fuck, maybe it’s the time, maybe it’s the fact that it’s hard to hide behind their respective love-life disasters when they’re literally half a world away.

This is different.

Tobio freezes, just for a second, but that second seems to be too much for Tsukishima. The bastard reaches out behind Tobio to squeeze a hand over his ass and pull him close until they’re flush against each other, and Tsukishima is just slightly looming over him, eyes blazing. “You know I can see you.” Damn those seven centimeters that the blond is probably going to have on Tobio for the rest of their lives.

With a growl, Tobio startles forward, managing to somehow both grind into Tsukishima and push him two steps back and into the door at the same time. It takes a little fumbling for Tsukishima to take his hands off Tobio’s ass to get the sweater off. His response to that particular predicament is to simply wrap one of his long legs around Tobio’’s hip instead. With the wall for support behind him, Tsukishima looks smug as a cat licking yolks off it’s paws after breaking an egg. The look only doubles in intensity when he manages to get Tobio’s t-shirt off.

Tobio glares at him, and proceeds to kiss the smugness off the tilt of the blond’s mouth.

Or try to.

Because Tsukishima gives as good as he gets, and he kisses Tobio shamelessly, wetly. When they part, he’s still wearing that stupid smirk. “Not that I need to see to get you like this.”

Tobio takes that as a challenge.

He’s hunched in a way that’s not much too comfortable, halfway down a trail of bruising bites down Tsukishima’s chest when the blond finally starts losing it, grinding faster into Tobio, leaning most of his weight on his hips and furiously scrabbling for the waist of his tracksuit, even though it’s trapped under Tsukishima’s own leg —  which is heavy; it must weigh as much as a middle-schooler  _ at least _ .

With the first brush of the blond’s hand over Tobio’s clothed erection, he shivers and they both almost end up on the floor. Tsukishima reacts quickly though, disentangling his leg from Tobio’s hip and using it to steady them both.

Tsukishima laughs quietly at Tobio’s flushed face, eyes dark with his pupils blown out and wide. “Here I was thinking you were going to fuck me into the door.”

Tobio’s upper lip curls in embarrassment. “You know full well that I can.” He huffs, and he lets Tsukishima swagger past him, towards the bed, allowing the blond to have his little moment.

At least until he’s just one step from Tobio’s (absolutely unmade) bed, not looking back because he’s just like that. That’s when Tobio grins to himself and proceeds to tackle Tsukishima onto the bed, hands going to the blond’s hips immediately, holding him tight so he can’t turn around easily. “What are you? Five?” Tsukishima complains, but he sounds breathless all the same, and instead of trying to get away he grinds back into Tobio’s erection. Making them both groan. “Fuck, King — ” whatever he was going to say is cut off by a drawn out moan when Tobio frees one of his hips, only to go up and pinch at his nipples.

It’s quick, and soft at first, mostly because he’s trying to get his bearings. Tobio feels hot all over; he’s getting worked up way quicker than usual. The action backfires, though, because Tsukishima is ticklish especially there, and he squirms between moans and laughs, until he’s turned halfway around and Tobio meets his eyes again and —

Tobio is hugging him, there’s no other way to describe it.

And Tsukishima is looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. “Fuck, this isn’t — ” Tobio hastens to say, trying to pull an arm out from under someone who’s basically a wall of muscle isn’t easy.

Tsukishima wiggles until he’s facing Tobio, redness high in his cheeks. “Is this okay?” he interrupts, eyes on the wall behind Tobio, hands kept respectfully in front of his own chest. “I was… If you don’t want to, just don't be an idiot and say it.” he finally grits out. And Tobio can see why, just the way he could downstairs.

The truth is that this is terrifying, and Tobio doesn’t even understand it enough yet to know what he’s terrified of.

Clearly, he isn’t the only one.

He sighs, and instead of taking his arms away, he tightens his hold, oh, damn it all to hell he’s not strong enough to keep pretending. 

” It’s fine,” Tobio says, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Tsukishima smells like that stupid fancy shampoo he got at a boutique the day they fought at the mall. “You’re not going soft on me, are you? The trip getting to your cold little heart, Saltyshima?” He grins and goes to open his eyes again. It feels good to not stop himself anymore.

“Never.” It’s a whisper that could almost be loving, except, of course, that Tsukishima doesn’t even wait for him to fully open his eyes before he’s finding enough leverage, god knows where, to roll them both over. Strong thighs bracket his thighs and swollen lips crash into his. Tobio is long since lost. He barely registers how they scoot up closer to the headboard, or how Tsukishima manages to shimmy out of his jeans —  Tobio’s own sweatpants are even more of an afterthought, with how easy it is for Tsukishima to yank them off — leaving them both in their underwear.

He’s too busy with his brain short-circuiting from the sight.

It’s the first time in a very long time that this isn’t soothing in one way or another. The first time when Tobio really can say that neither of them would come up with an excuse as to why they’re doing what they are. His chest hurts from it, even though he’s almost certain it doesn’t mean what he’d like for it to; he’s not that lucky, and he’s been painfully aware of that for years.

And yet Tsukishima is here, on top of him and he’s already so far down the rabbit hole that all he can do is run his fingers over the defined planes of the blond’s abdomen.

That is, until he reaches the sides of Tsukishima’s torso, where his serratus show proudly through his skin, and which Tobio tickles just to be a little shit.

Tsukishima shoots him a dirty look, and rolls his hips back in retaliation, grinding down wantonly. “I know where you’re ticklish too,” he half-moans. “Don’t test me.”

Tobio laughs. “You’re not that flexible,” he says, planting the soles of his feet on the mattress for good measure and dropping his hands to Tsukishima’s hips, thumbing over the ridge of bone and muscle that disappears into the blond’s boxers, and sliding down to grasp at his cloth covered dick that’s already making the fabric wet and messy.

The moan that it draws from the blond echoes in the room. “Asshole,” Tsukishima grunts, hips swinging back and forth in an enticing set of movements like he’s decided he’s going to both thrust up into Tobio’s hand and back into his dick, even if that involves getting his hamstrings cramped or worse. Just seeing it is enough for Tobio to feel himself harden even more. His fingers carve bruising paths over where they are wrapped around Tsukishima’s him, managing to hold him still for just long enough for Tobio to find an upwards rhythm of his own. It feels so good,  _ too _ good, fuck.

This isn’t going to last.

“Kageyama.” Tsukishima breathes leaning forward so his elbows are flexed over Tobio’s chest. “Where’s your lube?”

A short pause follows, one in which Tobio can't help but run his fingers up Tsukishima’s torso and over his shoulder. The blond pauses too, staring intently at him, as if gauging his reaction. “Behind the headboard.” He says finally, not bothering to repress the impulse to continue his hand’s path upwards to cup Tsukishima’s jaw.

One good thing about all those long limbs is that Tsukishima can fumble behind the headboard for the lube while still kissing Tobio.

They part for just long enough to slip out of their underwear, and only because Tsukishima can’t quite shimmy out of his own while straddling Tobio, who entertains the fleeting thought of ripping them before he catches himself.

He’s truly waiting for Tsukishima to scoot down, to start doing that thing when he runs his blunt fingernails over the muscles in Tobio’s thighs and sucks him off until he’s jelly-legged and shaking a little. But instead, he reaches behind himself, head thrown back, face turned away with a telltale flush high on his cheeks, as he starts teasing his own hole from that awkward angle.

And gods, if it isn’t the hottest thing Tobio has seen, or felt, or heard.

Tsukishima is going to kill him. 

“Shh.” He says, drawing hot circles on the trembling thighs around his waist. “I thought you didn’t — Scoot up, I’ll suck you off.” The blond’s eyes are hazy as he shoots Tobio a heated look before he obediently, moves up on his knees, straddling Tobio’s chest rather than his waist. “Needy,” he breathes, fumbling for the lube between the sheets and resting his back on the headboard. 

He squirts some lube in the palm of his hand, thanking the gods he got the one-handed bottle, because his other hand is busy teasing over Tsukishima’s rippling abs until it wraps around the blond’s cock, giving the hard length a couple of teasing pump while the blond braces himself on the headboard. “King , ” he groans, as Tobio’s fingers join his own at teasing his rim. “Stop  _ teasing _ .”

With a quiet laugh, Tobio concedes. Right now, he’d give Tsukishima anything. “As you wish.” He grins cheekily up at Tsukishima’s face before sitting forward and engulfing the blond’s length in his mouth. 

Tsukishima keens, and Tobio takes the second the blond spends frozen, panting over the headboard to adjust to it and simultaneously slip a finger inside the blond’s lax ring of muscle.

Tobio finds that he likes the position; the blond can mostly only hold on to the headboard behind him and pant, and the way he can feel the shivers running through the other’s body. The way that their bodies are pressed together is positively filthy. 

Like this, it’s easy to bring Tsukishima to the edge, knowing the other’s body the way he does. Tobio does have a gag reflex, but that’s of little consequence when Tsukishima has such a sensitive tip, that he relentlessly sucks on while attacking the man’s prostate from behind. And Tsukishima doesn’t hold back in his sounds; it’s something he stopped doing around Tobio a long time ago, but now, he cries out, unbridled, panting in a way not befitting of his usual stoic appearance, and he rocks back into Tobio’s fingers like it’s been years and not little more than a month.

Of course, maybe for this it has been a lifetime; Tobio can’t stop to think.

Not when Tsukishima shivers violently. “S-stop — ” he whines, even though he’s the one still thrusting shallowly down on the three fingers in his ass. 

Tobio pulls off, smirking up at Tsukishima. He has every idea of what’s happening. “Got dizzy up there?” He asks, voice hoarse from using his throat so much.

“Shut up , ” Tsukishima groans, scooting back again on legs that have lost their usual steadiness. Tobio helps him balance with his hands, although Tsukishima whines at the loss of contact. 

Tobio looks him over as he settles down over his hips, lip drawn between kiss-bruised lips, a bite mark darkening right above his heart. Tsukishima looks a little unhinged, a little hazy as he grinds back into Tobio’s leaking, neglected erection. “What are you waiting for, Your Majesty?” He pants.

Tobio lifts his eyebrows at him. “You.”

Usually, there’d be some comment about Tobio being a ‘pillow princess’, or pampered, or something, but when their eyes meet, something snaps into place. And they move in tandem, Tobio helping hold Tsukishima up, soothing his twitching muscles, holding him close to his chest. It feels like a dream, in a way it is, a warm, sweet one where he can just reach out and take, and take, and take, even things he knows aren’t his. 

He’s long since given in to this. Tsukishima can have whatever he wants; in reality, he’s the one taking, even if Tobio couldn’t deny him. Not now, not here, not when he can entertain the notion that he has the blond for his own for just a little bit longer, not when he can feel the other wanting him and wish for it to be the same wanting Tobio feels. “Earth to Tobio?” Tsukishima says from where his face is buried in Tobio’s shoulder. The rare sound of his first name in the other’s lips send him reeling. “Are you having a revelation or something?” he says, a tinge of meanness in the tone but his arms tighten around Tobio’s middle.

“No,” Tobio says, because the revelation happened a while ago;  _ this  _ is a surrender. He turns his head, burying his nose in the sweaty blond waves tucked behind Tsukishima’s left ear. “No.” he repeats, laying a kiss on the soft skin behind Tsukishima’s ear.

And if he says the blond’s name, his given name, before he starts thrusting, that’s just between the two of them. Tsukishima won’t ask for an explanation, probably.

Hopefully, because Tobio only has one to give.

.

.

The sheets are tight, somehow, around Kei’s body.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

What little light gets past his eyelids is telling him that it’s far too early for any kind of being awake. And, he remembers, it’s a Saturday to boot. 

Besides, he’s warm, back pressed to Kageyama’s body, legs tangled with his, he can feel the puffs of the setters breath between his shoulder blades. It’s quiet, comfortable, and Kei manages, for once in his life, to stop the freight train of thoughts about to depart the part of his brain that still thinks way too much about Kuroo.

It surprises even him, though. How easy, how sweet the acceptance is. 

He had sex with his long time —  _ best _ ? — friend out of nothing but just wanting him; no guilt, no sadness, no avoiding the ever present knowledge of fate’s shitty hand at things. 

And that’s good, and that’s fine. Kei has no idea where this is leading, or if it's even leading somewhere.

But for some reason, he doesn’t feel anxious about it.

Then of course, Kageyama has to move.

Kei feels him shimmy up and escape the cocoon of sheets that seems to have been built around the both of them during the night.

It’s not rare for Kageyama to be up early, but it irks Kei a little all the same, because it’s a fairly cold morning and neither of them turned up the thermostat last night. Not that the thing works too well. He wonders if it’ll snow here; it’s almost December and if it does snow and the thermostat keeps being a little shit, he’ll have to invest in fuzzy socks, and Kageyama will  _ never  _ let him live it down.

He doesn’t open his eyes until he hears the door close —  having won the battle for the en suite is very sweet — and that’s when Kei rolls over on the bed, reaching for any leftover warmth in Kageyama’s side of the bed.

He tries to ignore the knowledge, but it’s ever present, Tsukishima Kei has no idea what he’s doing.

At least he knows he doesn’t regret anything.

But Kageyama… ugh.

In the end, he waits there until the warmth has fled the bed, and it becomes even more apparent how sticky and naked Kei is from last night. He gets up and heads over to his own room, shivering at the cold air. Maybe Kageyama went for a jog; usually Kei would join him, but today’s one day he just wants to curl up into a blanket and drink something hot.

Not in a bad way, though.

He slips into some soft, fleece lined sweatpants and a thick sweater, digging through his drawers to find some decently thick socks.

By the time he has his cocoa bubbling away in a shiny, brand-new metal pot, he’s bought a new book on his phone. 

The winter sunlight that seeps in through the window isn’t much, but it gives the room a little cheer.

There isn’t much color around him. Kei knows both he and Kageyama are a little ascetic when it comes to decorating, but over here, where no meddling friends or family or neighbors come along to splash color in, the apartment is looking a little clinical and quiet, even for them.

Except for the puff, of course, but  _ that _ monstrosity doesn’t count.

There isn’t much that he can to about the color right now, but —

Maybe it’s a bad idea.

Kei sighs, turns back to the pot and watches the little bubbles coming up to the surface. 

Oh, what the hell.

His old music app takes a while to download, and, much to his chagrin, takes a while to load all his info.

This, of course, ends up letting Kei’s anxiety simmer like the chocolate, he almost deletes the damn thing again. He’s been doing fine without music anyways, and it’s not like Kageyama misses it or is going to comment on that, so —

Kei pours himself a cup of chocolate and leans back into the counter, he takes a deep breath and presses shuffle.

Which, of course, starts playing that squeaky thing that Yamaguchi made him listen to once and now can’t be scrubbed raw from his poor account. He’s even made it a point not to know who it’s by or what it’s called, that kind of knowledge would only hurt him. It might show up in his dreams or something equally horrible.

He barks out a laugh and skips to the next, refusing to even look at the phone to know what it is. 

At least his chocolate is the right amount of creamy and Kei breathes in the aroma as the opening notes to a familiar song sound.

_ Young and full of running _

_ Tell me where is that taking me? _

_ Just a great figure eight _

_ Or a tiny infinity? _

He’s okay.

He’s  _ okay _ .

The only moment he realizes he’s closed his eyes is when he hears the soft footsteps somewhere to his right. Kei startles, only to open his eyes to find a sweaty, messy-haired Kageyama staring at him through overgrown bangs. 

They both need haircuts.

“Good god, did you have to sneak up on me.” Kei huffs, cradling the cup protectively in his hands. 

Kageyama glares at him. “I wasn’t sneaking,” he pouts, walking further inside. The tips of his nose and ears are read, Kei notes, as the setter walks past him to get a sports drink from the fridge. “You’re the one that insisted on the fancy lock.”

It is true that the lock barely makes a sound. “Whateverc” Kei rolls his eyes at him. “Hard to believe you didn’t get hypothermia out there.”

Kageyama turns around, sliding off his jacket, left now in only a tight t-shirt and jogging pants. “You do remember I used to jog up to Hinata’s house?” he says, casually, with a raised eyebrow. “In winter.”

Kei laughs. “Monsters, the lot of you,” he says, taking a sip from his mug. 

“Like you’re one to talk.” Kageyama hesitates a little; it’s only noticeable because he’s well, Kageyama and Kei is Kei. “...is that chocolate?” he asks, peering at the pot from behind Kei, like the smell isn’t enough of a giveaway.

“There’s enough for you,” Kei drawls out, looking away. “I only used milk.” Kageyama’s eyes light up a bit; whatever that hesitation was, disappears for a second as he walks past Kei and approaches the pot from the other side. “It’s probably cold, though.”

The setter gingerly picks the ladle from the pot and brings it to his lips. looking slightly disappointed. “I’ll heat it up after I shower,” he licks his lips.

“Just put it on,” Kei shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye on it, just don't take too long.”

He really says it as an offhand. By now, it’s second nature; these little things don’t feel like they need an excuse to be done between them. But when Kei looks at Kageyama, his wide eyes that are watching him, unsure and a little afraid. 

It’s strange that he only notices now how close they are, how he could bump his hip into the setter’s with little effort right now, how Kageyama has a little chocolate on his upper lip.

How his eyes flicker down to Kei’s mouth too.

And who does Kei think he is? A chick-flick protagonist?

_ Don't say a word _

_ Just come over and lie here with me _

_ Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see _

He isn’t —  stupid taunting music aside — but if he were, he would be in one of those bad indie movies; the kind with the girls that speak like sixty year olds and the guy-protagonists that always wear ugly sweaters and all look the same. He probably wouldn’t even be the main character; at best, he’D BE the jerk classmate.

But this isn’t a stupid movie, so he leans in and kisses Kageyama anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand Tsukki realized... sort of... not rally.  
> But hey at least he knows he's felling something.
> 
> I would love to know what you all thought, it makes my day!
> 
> Love, and happy new year, Kyrye


	6. (yeah this is love) For the first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s easy to sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter bbyssssss! I am very sorry for being AWOL, this month has just been, well horrid.  
> I'm so glad I managed to finish this tho'  
> Also, the song in this chapter is Afterthought by Joji  
> Without any more preamble...
> 
> (as always, [ Jules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules), is legendary)

It’s easy to sink.

Tobio thought it would recede— the hunger, the greed that filled that sweet, hazy weekend. It did not feel like something that could be maintained for very long.

Not when it was so intense.

But those two days of sweat soaked sheets, and the eventual casting most forms of clothing into oblivion, eventually passed, no matter how much neither he nor Tsukishima hurried them along. By the next Monday morning, everything seemed so normal, like the world was tilting back into its usual axis after having been shoved sideways for a couple of nights.

Tobio went on a run Tsukishima didn’t, they had breakfast— Tsukishima tried to make pancakes with protein powder, which were neither the right shape, nor were they particularly tasty— and went to the usual gym before volleyball practice.

And practice… it was normal. For Tobio especially, who was already fidgety with the thought of facing what happened, facing the utter lack of obstacles in their way, a clear track laid down in front of both of them. And the fact that the only reason not to start running would be, well— either of them not wanting to.

Oh, how Tobio does.

He wants to run, to spring; this is something so familiar it makes his cheeks hurt, and so new to him that his teeth hurt from it. He feels silly, too much like he’s a lot younger than his actual age.

But this is Tsukishima, who was hurt so recently. Who might not even have ended up having anything to do with Tobio in this way, if it wasn’t the fact that both of them were dealt less than stellar cards by fate when it comes to soul mates. It was a toss up between him following along this track or just brushing it off as their usual, as comfort and closeness that never expects anything more.

So that afternoon, Tobio was terrified. He’d readied his best flat expression, he’d even been ready to be indignant at Tsukishima for being apologetic or curt, whichever way he went. But then the door to their apartment opened, and Tsukishima hugged him from the back, wrapping strong arms around Tobio’s torso and sliding his hands under his shirt in the most suggestive way possible.

How could he have been expected to resist? To stop and think of another solution, a healthier one? 

Tobio leaned into the touch, he went along with Tsukishima’s every breathless plea, and he took, and took, and took.

Like a teenager.

He still feels like one here, where he is standing. His back is pressed up against the wall of the storage room in the gym that Ali Roma uses for practice, the smell of rubber and salon pas that may well be the smell of home for Tobio mixing in with Tsukishima’s stupid herbal shampoo. There’s sweat, old and new sliding down Tobio’s brow while he bites his lip, trying his best to be quiet, even though there should be no one but them here this late.

It’s even more juvenile for that; they literally have a whole apartment to do this, and yet here they are, and yet—

The mats beside his head wobble dangerously when he spreads his legs a little further and his ankle bumps into them. The movement meant to adjust his stance before the hands sliding up his boxers make him a little too weak at the knees.

Tobio startles, a squeak escaping his throat. 

From where he’s knelt in front of him, Tsukishima smirks, smug and so, so beautiful. “Relax, King, everyone’s gone.” He says, voice low and deep and dripping with amusement. Tobio is still in his boxers— unbearably hard, and leaking so much that there’s a sizable wet spot at their front— but he swears he can feel Tsukishima’s warm, lurid breath on his cock through them.

Being together with Tsukishima like this should be difficult;he should be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He is, in a way.

The thing is, however, that Tobio isn’t one to run circles around things. He _knows_ the other shoe will drop and it will probably not do so in his favor. Still, right now, there are rough hands trailing lines of tinging pleasure up his thighs, under the soft fabric of his underwear. Tsukishima has big hands, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, with callouses that make Tobio salivate when he remembers how good they feel brushing against fine, sensitive skin. Those hands are currently spanning all of the front of his thighs, and pone slides up to grip him through his boxers. 

There are so many things he should be doing, thinking, bracing himself for right now, as he’s moaning and arching off the wall.

But Tobio has wanted, and wanted, and wanted _so_ much for so long.

This is the first time he’s getting any of that, even if it’s probably not going to last.

What does it matter then if this greed, this lust, will end up coming right back up when he’s gobbled up too much? It’s divine right now, it’s sparks under his skin and the dark gold of Tsukishima’s eyes. Nothing compares, and that’s worth whatever this is leading to.

His fingers thread through spun gold, they tug. Tsukishima’s mouth falls open from that smirk, his pupils blow wide and he moans. “That’s more like it,” He growls, and Tobio’s boxers are suddenly being tugged down impatiently. 

“Fuck—” Tobio pants, and Tsukishima— because he’s a little shit— takes a long, shallow lick at his tip, making whatever Tobio was going to say fly right out of his head. “you’re—ah, evil.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes up at him, and doesn’t bother with an answer. Instead, he grabs Tobi’s erection , and proceeds to swallow him to the base.

And Tobio really, really hopes there’s no one else in the building, because not only does he end up splitting his lip open from trying to not be too loud, he makes sure to return the favor by spreading Tsukishima apart on top of a stack of mats later on.

The moon is high on the clear winter sky by the time they finally walk home. 

.

.

The season hasn’t even started, but that means all the more time for practice matches.

Not that Kei minds— it means traveling, seeing a little more of Italy even if it’s from a bus window. The area surrounding Naples brings him out of the half-doze he’s fallen into in the couple of hours of travel it takes to get there from Rome. Besides, after the past few weeks, he probably should stop and think about what he’s doing.

Not that he _wants_ to stop and think, but he _should_.

“Here you go!” Coach Rossi’s voice rings jovially, echoing off the lobby walls. Kei, still groggy from the bus ride and more than a little hungry, only realizes what it is Ricci is handing out when the little square of plastic is placed in his hand. “You’re on room three-oh-seven” He grins as Kei takes the key card.

That’s good, he looks around himself, at the polished wooden floors and the reception desk that seems to gleam in the amber lowlights mounted along the white walls. Maybe he can slip away into the elevator and ask for room service— he’s tired enough. 

Wait, they’re getting rooms for themselves? Back in Japan, Kei had already gotten used to sharing. His coach usually bunked him with Kyoutani; it was a decently tolerable arrangement, as both of them are the kind of people who keep to themselves. “Thank you, coach.” He drawls out, pocketing the card as Ricci turns to Kageyama. 

“This one’s yours Tobio, three-oh-eight. You’re right beside each other.” His grin only becomes wider, a little satisfied. Like he knows something he shouldn’t. Of course, that isn’t possible; putting them in adjacent rooms is probably more tied to the fact that everyone knows that Kageyama is far from being fluent in the native language, or even in English— and he is sometimes still a bit of a dick about it, too, as if it’s someone’s fault other than his own— so they like to keep him close to Kei.

The visible half of Kageyama’s face— the otherhalf which is buried in a fluffy scarf— contorts with a constipated look. A confused wrinkle appears between his brows. “Uh—” He starts to say, but then seems to think better of it, the rest of the sentence coming out mumbled and unrecognizable. Kageyama buries his hands even deeper in the pockets of the track jacket he’s wearing and his cheeks go pink.

Ricci notices easily enough, he turns back to Kageyama. “Is something wrong?” He asks, in heavily accented English. He’s a relatively young man, for a coach. He keeps a well trimmed, caramel colored mustache, and carefully gelled back hair. Kei remembers reading that he once went to the Olympics with the Italian National team, some ten years ago. If he’s not wrong, Ricci was a libero. “You need to tell me if there is. You two have been doing extremely well with moving this far away from home, but it’s still important that we communicate.”

If even possible, Kageyama flushes redder. “Uh, no—” He shakes his head, if Ricci’s English is heavily accented, his own is even more. It still beats his Italian by a wide margin— he did come home with some sort of weird soybean milk the other day when he’d set out to buy regular milk and actual beans, and Kei’s theory it that he was either too annoyed or too embarrassed to come back and ask the old lady that runs the store around the corner of their apartment block for help— so everyone has taken to speaking to him in English. Besides, they’re not the only foreigners on the team. “I was just… surprised.” Kageyama glances sheepishly to the side. “We usually share rooms.”

That much is true.

Kei can’t help but notice the comment, though. 

Or rather, he can’t help but remember that Kageyama’s—and by extension, his own— sleeping arrangements have not exactly included only one person in bed for a little while now. These past few weeks have felt like both a fever dream and a free fall. After that first night with the takeout and the puff, it’s been like neither of them can take their hands off the other in private, sometimes in public. Neither of them has ever bothered to get back to their own room after engaging in such activities, that’s for sure.

He almost wants to be a little miffed at himself.

But it feels good, _he_ feels good.

He hasn’t felt this good since—

Yeah.

Anyways, he can count on one hand the times they’ve slept separately since that day and still have enough fingers leftover to hold a spoon.

Ricci laughs, large white teeth glinting in the lowlights of the lobby of the swanky hotel. “Well, you can thank our sponsors for that. We usually do too, but they have been extra generous lately. I know you two are pretty close, living together and all, but I bet you also value your privacy. Now—” He lifts his arms, gathering the attention of the few of their teammates who weren't watching the conversation, most of them have sly looks on. “Everyone, run along. Don’t make dinner too heavy, we have an early day tomorrow and I don’t want anyone sleeping badly. Our first practice match is at nine and I want you all warmed up by eight.”

Kei rolls his eyes, like they don’t know that.

There are laughs from the other players, who walk up ahead in pairs or groups of three, making small talk with each other. This leaves him and Kageyama walking side by side towards the back of the pack. 

Everyone has been friendly enough, some even more than professional courtesy entails, but when everyone’s hanging out together, it tends to default to this. It’s comfortable at least, because Kageyama isn’t one for small talk, and he’s also not going to try to rope Kei into going out and meeting some ‘babes’ the way Saenz kept trying to do at first. 

Setting a slow pace, Kei stretches up, hands held high towards the sky. The joints in his back pop as he does and a little bit of satisfaction fills him when Kageyama scoffs. “Can you not do that freaky thing around me?” He huffs into the scarf; he never has liked when Kei does that. For a second, it feels like the setter’s dark blue eyes are cutting Kei, but then they soften as he huffs into the fluffy, white scarf.

Not like that’s a reason to not bother Kageyama. “Keep being pissy and I’ll do my hands too.” An affronted look fills Kageyama’s face, it tears a laugh out from Kei. It never gets old to tease him just a little. 

“Grow up,” Kageyama groans, burrowing even deeper into the wool. By now, it’s over the bridge of his nose and only his eyes are visible.

“Yeah, I’m the one that should grow up—” Kei mocks. “What was that before? Are you going to miss me, King?”

It’s a little meaner than he’s been lately, but to be fair, Kei can only hold it in for so long. Kageyama does startle, embarrassment clear on his demeanor as he looks away. “Half the people in this country don’t understand me,” He says, and Kei can tell he’s trying to look unaffected, but it really comes out as more of an impression of a pouty child. “It’s just self-preservation.”

Kei laughs again, a little taken aback by the fact that even Kageyama can be cute sometimes— and he did _not_ just think that— he slaps a hand between the setter’s shoulder blades. “It’s literally one door, and if you woke me up for something stupid I’d shave your head in your sleep. Maybe it’s safer for you this way.” Kei gives Kageyama a wide smirk.

Kageyama glares at him. “Whatever,” He says, and starts walking a little faster.

Now, Kei is basically the closest to an expert on the behaviors and limited range of expressions of Kageyama Tobio, so he can’t quite lie to himself and say that not only does Kageyama look like a scalded cat, right now, he actually looked a little hurt. He’s not so much of an expert in his own thoughts and feelings, though, so it’s hard to know why he cares enough about a mild look of hurt to catch up to Kageyama and half-heartedly grunt at him. “Your Italian is getting better, though—” He concedes, teeth grinding together, more affected by having—maybe— upset Kageyama than he initially thought he would be. “You wouldn’t even need me by now if you talked to people more instead of making me deal with them.”

The effect is the opposite from what he intended though, Kageyama turns to look at him with a mix of incredulity, and something wide-eyed and raw, something that hurts, and that he can’t name. “I ne—” He gapes for a second, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. They’ve stopped walking right outside the hotel’s restaurant and the jovial sound of their teammates talking has become fainter as they get further away. “Good luck with your stupid freezing feet.” Is what he says, instead of whatever he was planning on, and then he walks even faster, catching up to the rest of the team.

All through dinner, Kageyama seems to be taking his advice to heart. The starting libero, Lombardi, is Italian, born and raised. Kageyama sits beside him at the long table that the staff put together for the whole team to share, and makes it a point to clumsily ask the man for pointers about this thing or the other. It would be funny if Kei didn’t know he was doing it solely because somewhere in the twenty words he said, he managed to upend his Highness’ mood. 

_Stupid Lombardi_. Kei ignores them, instead engaging with two of the other middle blockers in a stilted conversation and stabbing at his steak. He pointedly ignores Kageyama’s voice, even when it’s loud, even when he laughs at some stupid joke.

And he’s ready to storm up to his room in a huff, because he’s not here to put up with Kageyama when he decides to act like a five year old. 

But then, by the time everyone starts heading up to their rooms, Kageyama drops himself in the chair beside Kei’s, sheepish, and he nudges his desert towards him.

Well, whatever that was, it certainly went away fast.

And Kei appreciates the extra desert; he _does_ like tiramisu.

.

.

Tsukishima looks like he's going to fall on his face. He’s swaying slightly, eyes narrowed at Tobio from the bar door, his cheeks are glowing a healthy pink despite the rest of his skin being ashy pale, and the huge under eye circles he’s sporting.

Tobio sighs, setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. The edges of his vision are fuzzy, and he realizes, maybe Tobio is the one swaying? He looks down at his hand— it's blurry, but nothing else seems out of place. Then, he looks over at Tsukishima, yeah, still swaying a little bit.

"That's not how it works, you dolt." He hears the blond say from where he's waiting by the bar door, back lit by early-arranged Christmas lights. Apparently Tobio just said that out loud. "You're the one that looks like one of those dogs old people put on their dashboards. C’mon, you’re drunk and I’m not leaving you to fall on your face." he stretches a hand out at him, the sneer on his face only half-mocking. 

And Tobio reaches over and takes it. 

A chorus of laughs bursts to life behind him, most of the team is still finishing whatever drink it was they ordered. It was late when the practice games finished, so the bus is departing early in the morning and they all have a rest day tomorrow. Someone yells something in quick Italian that Tobio probably wouldn’t even be able to understand sober, Tsukishima glares and flips the bird at whatever it is. Before Tobio has any time to ask or turn around and try to make out at least who said it, he's being dragged out of the bar.

As far as post-game celebrations go, it was pretty tame. With everyone tired from two practice games with sets that went well into the thirties, and after a week of grueling practice, everyone was more in the mood to trade volleyball stories rather than go wild. Besides, their bus is scheduled to depart tomorrow before dawn, and it seems there's more than one person in the team that really can't hold their alcohol.

It's fine by Tobio, really. Partying, even if there aren’t any games looming over his head, isn’t really his style. He also saw Tsukishima's head drooping from the second they sat down at the bar table, when the man proceeded to order some cocktail that looked to be sixty percent Kahlua and forty percent milk.

Right now, he looks fuzzy at the edges though. Just how tired Tsukishima is has become even more obvious. His eyelids look heavy and the corners of his mouth are drooping, same as his shoulders. "You didn't get any sleep, did you?" Tobio asks, letting himself be led out, into the sea of amber lights and cobblestones that is the street, Tobio doesn’t bother trying to make out their surroundings— maybe he needs glasses, now that he thinks of it, or maybe it’s just the fact that he let Lombardi order for him, greatly overestimating his own tolerance. Naples is even prettier like this, though, and it makes even Tsukishima's tired eyes light up as he looks around them. 

"The stupid mattress is too soft," Tsukishima grumbles, and Tobio has to take a second to remember what it was he just asked before getting distracted by the way the lights bounced off Tsukishima’s eyes. "And there's a draft in my room."

Tobio glares at him. "So you spent all night reading that one e-book, didn’t you?" He accuses, knowing without even needing to see the pout on Tsukishima’s lips that he’s right.

The blond shrugs, squinting at something in the bar wall behind Tobio. "I got a couple of hours in." Dirty liar, he takes a step to their left, but then his brow furrows into a frown. Tsukishima would like to believe he’s slick, or that he knows how to bluff effectively, but to anyone that knows him, it’s easy to see how stiff and annoyed he gets.

"You don't know how to get us back, do you? " Tobio asks, smirking widely, feeling a little giddier than he should.

"Oh, like you have any sense of where we are." Tsukishima quips, then pulls out his phone. "We're not even that far from the hotel, I just can’t figure out which corner we have to turn at—" He pokes at the screen, lips sucked in between his lips, brows slanting more with every second that passes. 

It's so adorable, Tobio laughs. "You were saying?"

"Shut up," Even more blush rises to Tsukishima's face; above his turtleneck, his ears are a pretty shade of red. "Maybe I'd be faster if you released my hand from captivity." He huff, glaring down, Tobio follows his line of sight. "You're sweaty, you know?"

Tobio looks down, he indeed never let go of Tsukishima's hand after they came out of the bar— and now that he thinks about it, they're still just outside of it standing in the cold in front of the window like two fools. Right, they’re in public. Heshouldn't be doing this. He loosens his hold, letting his hand drop away completely soon after. Is his hand really sweaty, he looks at the palm for a second, then wipes it dry on his jeans. 

Fuck, he's gotten too comfortable, hasn't he? His eyes sting a little, it's probably the alcohol making him emotional. It does that, though not so often lately— not since he made his peace with the whole Hinata thing. But it does.

He takes another step back, still dizzy, and the back of his foot catches on something, he doesn't currently have the coordination to turn his head to look exactly what it is that’s tripping him before he's being yanked back by a strong arm, and cradled against something hard and warm.

Tsukishima's stupid sweater smells like their laundry soap.

"Just stay still, idiot." Tsukishima mutters, low and tired. "Let me figure out this stupid map."

Tobio’s heart seizes up in this chest, and he breathes in more deeply. Tsukishima has about three inches on him; it’s not that much. His nose is level with the blond’s jaw, he doesn’t even have to stand on his tiptoes to kiss Tsukishima, just tilt his head up and elongate his neck. And damn, he really wants to right now. What gets him most is that Tsukishima is being soft to him. Noone else would know that he is— no one but Tobio, who can feel it so deeply in his every cell that it’s overwhelming. 

The bell of the bar door jingles behind him, Tobio doesn’t bother to look. "Oi you guys! If you two wanted some kissing time you just had to say so!" A familiar voice yells from behind Tobio, it sounds a lot like—

"Now Lombardi, don't tease them. We were trying to make them comfortable!" A booming laugh follows the new voice, and Tobio knows it's one of the other middle blockers on the team. His heavy, Spanish accent is familiar enough. "You know they're private people!"

"They are literally cuddling on the street." Lombardi grumbles, he sounds like he’s closer now.

Tsukishima scoffs, and the arm around Tobio’s waist tightens. "I couldn’t just let him split his head open, he's drunk."

"Oh, really Kei?" The other middle blocker— Saenz, he thinks, is the man’s last name— says. It makes Tobio’s blood boil a little to hear him call Tsukishima by his given name, but it’s common place here, so he can’t even say anything about it. "I'll be glad to carry him if it's too much trouble, it would suck for our brand new starting setter to go and get injured."

"I'm fine." Tsukishima hisses, and Tobio doesn't need to pull away from where his nose is buried in the blond's plush turtle neck to know he's giving Saenz a glare that could probably freeze the Niagara falls. Fingers dig into the thick fabric of his sweatshirt, right at the place where his waist curves.

Tobio feels himself smile, that’s nice— he can put up with Saenz being annoying if he’s getting this treatment for it. "We could use you pointing out which way the hotel is, though." He chimes in, not bothering to pull away from Tsukishima, and that's nice too because he can feel the groan of frustration that tears from Tsukishima. “He forgot and he’s too stingy to ask for help.”

Lombardi and Saenz laugh in unison. "So much for you two being private people. C’mon, we're heading off to bed too." Lombardi says and Tsukishima sighs, then his hold on Tobio's waist disappears. 

"Hey, your Majesty, I'm not going to carry you." A sharp pointer finger pokes at Tobio's ribs. He can tell Tsukishima’s keeping close just in case Tobio is too drunk to walk. "If we lose them, you're figuring out the damn map."

Oh, right.

Tobio carefully extricates himself from the embrace, already mourning the loss of the warmth.

He feels a little over-light, like his feet don't press down into the stone of the sidewalk heavily enough. "You're the one who hasn't slept," He complains. “You should be the one ready to pass out.”

"Shockingly." Tsukishima deadpans, and there's a pause where Tobio is looking up at the sky above them before he gets hit with an impulse he can’t shake. He glances down, at Tsukishima’s recently free hand, and makes the conscious— albeitnot quite sober— choice of reaching out and grabbing it.

Tsukishima barley takes a second to stare, before he breathes out long , almost like a sigh and his fingers close around Tobio’s own."Alright, come on. You're really going to hurt yourself. Don’t trip over your own feet King, I'm not diving in to save you." Tsukishima begins guiding him along, through the rest of the late Saturday crowd in the busy, bar lined street.

Tobio's chest feels like something is ballooning inside of it. "You say that," He grins, eighty percent of the warm, fuzzy, happy feelings he currently has are probably a product of having way too many of those stupid sweet cocktails. That doesn’t particularly matter to him right now, even though there’s a part of his brain that’s yelling that he’ll be embarrassed about this tomorrow. "But I know you would."

Tsukishima's head whips towards him and the blond glares, his cheeks are tinted a rosy pink again and his eyes are wide. "Why can't you just be an embarrassment to yourself?" He groans. “I’m not letting you drink this much outside of the apartment again.”

Playful indignation rises up his throat. "Why can't you just admit you would?" Tobio counters, leaning forward on a torso that feels all too heavy. "You have before." 

The blond sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, A tuft of previously brushed back hair falls over his forehead. Fucking Tsukishima, having the nerve to look cute while also being a stubborn prick. "Doesn't mean I'm always gonna."

"Really?" Tobio asks, and it must sound a little pathetic, because Tsukishima’s fingers tighten around his own, in a reassuring way.

"I hope you're too drunk to remember this." He says, and the frustration on his face is sweet somehow. "But I guess at this point we're stuck with each other."

For someone that choked on his own feelings for seven years, that’s actually a rather assertive thing to say. Tobio’s heart swells, it may not be the claim he’d like but coming from Tsukishima, it’s a lot. "'m not stuck, I’m in—"

No, not that. He’snot that drunk.

"Uh?" The blond asks.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Tobio finishes lamely, feeling like a toddler when he adds. "Are we there yet?"

Tsukishima snorts, likely thinking the same thing. "When did you turn into a five-year-old? Yeah, we're close."

They're quiet as they walk through the next few blocks, Tobio because he's trying not to say something that might sour all this, while Tsukishima just seems to be taking in the city. He does so quietly, with barely concealed wonder in his golden eyes, which catch every light and sign they walk past, and the way he breathes in the frigid early-winter air is like it's ambrosia. Tobio has never been very entranced by sightseeing, other than the occasional view from up high. Tsukishima is the opposite— he's the kind of person that finds meaning in cracked bricks and souls in old street lamps, and right now he's not hiding it at all.

It's lovely. 

And it's also probably the first time he's even gotten to since they moved to Italy. Everything so far has been either work or setting up their apartment— or messing up their apartment with wild, monkey sex, Tobio snickers at that. They really have been doing it that much—

"Hm? Did you say something?" Those lamplight eyes are on him, Tobio's mind stops what little functioning it was doing, all he knows is that look and Tsukishima's hand in his own.

He hears himself talk, almost like he's underwater. "Do you wanna stay and sightsee tomorrow?" He asks. "We still have two days off."

The blond stops for a second. "You're going to be hungover."

"Nah," Tobio slurs, He wants to slump into Tsukishima’s shoulder again; the blond’s comfy. "I'll be fine."

A laugh escapes Tsukishima’s mouth. "Let's see if you still think that tomorrow," His eyes trail up and down Tobio’s form. “Though you’ve always been weirdly resistant to hangovers.”

Tobio frowns up at him. "I will!"

"Fine, fine, I believe you." Tsukishima stops in front of a brightly back lit glass door. "We're here." He says, turning so he’s facing forward and the light makes it look like he’s glowing.

And Tobio’s feeling, Tobio’s feelings become a tide, and very unromantically try to push up his throat and past his lips. To his credit, drunk as he is, he knows it’s not the time, and he does his best. He can’t stop it all, though, so a tiny, rasped out word does escape him. "Kei."

"Is something wrong?" Tsukishima asks, turning a startled look on Tobio after hearing his first name called out and damn the golden glow, and damn his stupid sweater, and damn—

"Oh, we thought you guys stayed behind!" Lombardi calls, peeking out of the glass door, hands occupied by two Styrofoam cups with something steaming in them. "What are you doing out there in the cold?" 

“Yeah!" Saenz calls form behind him, his mop of black, curly hair bobbing excitedly. "Come on in, there's complimentary cookies."

Just like that, the moment— if there ever was one, and it wasn't just an alcohol addled hallucination— breaks, and Tobio tightens his own hand around Tsukishima’s, dragging him into the hotel with the determination of a person who just almost confessed to loving a longtime friend while more than just a little drunk.

And later that night, when the four of them get to their floor and start scattering to their respective individual rooms, Tobio can almost convince himself that he sees Tsukishima hesitate. Right there, in front of the eyes of their teammates, before he walks past Tobio's door and over to his own. 

.

.

Kei will admit that he’s gotten used to sleeping with Kageyama when hell freezes over.

The fact that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a decade or so is probably giving him away, but Kageyama isn’t that observant. Surely, even though he’ll know Kei hasn’t slept at all in the past two days, he most likely wont be able to figure out why. And Kei thanks every deity out there for that; if he had to admit it out loud, he’d also have to delve deeper into the reason he’s missing Kageyama in his bed after years of hooking up with the setter, and then sleeping just fine by himself.

Hell, a good fraction of his morning shower musings these past three years have been about how Kageyama is a terrible person to _actually_ sleep with— he steals the blankets, literally wraps them around his body and hangs on to them while asleep.

He hasn’t been doing that too often lately, though. 

Kei sighs, and his usual stock of convenient denial seems to be freshly empty this particular night.

So maybe it’s better he doesn’t think about it until he really has to.

One might say that isn’t a very good strategy, but fuck it, Kei needs a little time. This year has been enough of an emotional mess as it is.

From thinking he’d never see Kuroo again, to dating Kuroo, to getting dumped and the subsequent breakdown that probably did away with a good percentage of his liver. And now this thing with Kageyama, this thing that seems to have been there for a while, barely hidden from Kei by his own myopia.

What Kei means is, he feels like a nerve that’s been stripped raw, and still the world won’t stop turning around him.

And he’s very much sure that he almost lost Kageyama— who isn’t really his to keep, who is he kidding?— the other week with apparently barely any work on his part.

He sighs; maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

The bed in front of him holds no appeal to Kei. He’s never had that much trouble sleeping in foreign places, so long as he had an eye mask and his headset, butlast night was hell. Hewas too cold, even bundled up in thermal pajamas and knee-high fuzzy socks, and when he finally swallowed his pride and asked room service for another blanket, he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of the extra blanket and ended up dreaming that Hinata was sitting on his chest.

For… some reason.

Fuck it, he’s not training tomorrow.

The half-crushed cigarette box is at the bottom of his bag; Kei packed it just in case.

His feet take him back down to the brightly lit, festively decorated lobby and then out on the street

And shut up, it’s his second cigarette this week. He’s been smoking like a chimney for the last two months, and this quitting thing is hard. 

Outside, it’s frigid cold. There’s no snow, and there likely wont be for a two weeks still. They’re expecting less than what they would get in Japan, anyways, and Kei doesn’t think he’s going to miss it. Especially when this crazy, horny interlude-thing with Kageyama dwindles down, and they stop sleeping in the same bed— whichever they manage to fall into— every night.

The thought makes him a little sad.

And it brings Kei right back to that thing he’s supposed to be waiting to think about when he isn’t barely holding himself together with thin threads and painful needle-strokes. By nature, Kei over thinks things— how he thought that avoiding this would ever be possible, he has no idea. The thought sparks into life at the same time as the cigarette’s cherry, and he finds a nice, chilled stone bench to slump in as he inhales the warm smoke.

All of this— what’s happening with Kageyama, Italy— It feels like a dream. And not exactly in a bad way, but in that, it feels fragile, as if Kei could reach out and unknowingly snap the little threads holding everything together until it unravels and this tentative peace falls over his head like a curtain. And it suffocates him. 

He inhales angrily and the smoke catches in his throat, a coughing fit making him regret coming out here. Kei should be sleeping.

If he’s truthful, he knows the reason everything feels like it might rip apart like wet paper is that there are no foundations. Kei’s falling into old habits of letting things burn themselves out while there’s a glaring fault in their course; he’s letting himself become the spectator to his own car crashes, to the things he knows can’t go on forever. Like him and Kuroo. Like him and Kageyama. 

He has to take things into his hands this time, whatever way he can.

Which would be so much easier if Kei only had any idea of what he wants out of this.

On his way back up to his uncomfortable bed in his too big room, with the too heavy blankets, Kei stops for a second to stare at Kageyama’s door, firmly shut as it is. His fingers reach out to caress the brass doorknob, and he turns it.

Only to find that it’s locked.

And for the first time in so, so long, it feels like Kageyama is further away than he can ever reach.

.

.

At this point, Tsukishima is just being a stubborn bastard. 

Tobio insisted on getting earlier tickets, but sometimes, talking to Tsukishima is like trying to reason with a brick wall. Especially when the blond’s been promised some artsy film in an old, old theater. And so, here they are, late at night, in a coffee shop just a couple of streets away from Naples’ central train station. He's sipping at something foamy and sweet while Tsukishima sips at something that's almost distilled essence of coffee. Their roles reversed from their usual.

And Tsukishima has dark circles under his eyes that almost look like bruises.

For the most part, he's acting normal, as in he's been snarky and bought a bunch of tiny things to brighten up their apartment that are surely going to end up in a box in the storage room when neither of them makes a move to find places to hang them up or place them so they’re not in the way of their daily activities.

"Are you sure you don't want to buy Christmas stuff?" he presses, if only because they now own some sort of egg-house with a smirking chicken, but Tsukishima has refused to even look the way of the Christmas decorations, scoffing at those like he and Tobio aren’t lugging a stupid, wooden, smirking chicken back to Rome.

And that means a lot of scoffing, because Christmas decorations are everywhere, as they should be, because Christmas is like a week and a half away.

The question earns him a glare from behind slightly fogged up glasses. "Do you want to drag a Christmas tree back to Rome?"

"We're dragging that stupid lamp back." Tobio shrugs glancing at the tallest box in Tsukishima's haul. "At this point we might as well rent a truck."

"It's not that big!" Tsukishima defends, eyes narrowed. "And you got a bunch of clothes. AllI'm getting is going to be useful for both of us."

Tobio sips at his sweet, creamy drink. It's closer to chocolate than coffee, and that's just fine by him. "So you're _not_ going to steal the sweaters I just bought," When Tsukishima frowns and opens his mouth to speak, Tobio snickers. "Before you start spitting salt on me, remember that you're wearing my scarf."

Tsukishima's cheeks grow red. "Miwa gave this one to me." He huffs, "I knew your megalomaniac tendencies were just the beginning, you're clearly beginning to hallucinate."

"My wha—" Tobio shakes his head. "Never mind, I'll ask her right now."

Tsukishima glares harder, lower lip pushed out in a pout. "Fine," he reaches up to unwrap the scarf from around his neck. Tobio doesn't even have to think about reaching out to stop him, his hand meets the warm skin of the other's wrist. An annoyed look is thrown his way. "What? Weren't you just complaining that I steal your clothes?" he asks, pout still in place. And Tobio looks him over, not for the first time today, for all he gripes about try-hards, Tsukishima has this way of dressing where he manages to both look cozy and like he's about to give a speech in a fancy conference. The tan coat he's wearing— whichmatches perfectly with the stolen periwinkle blue scarf— looks like it would smell good if Tobio pressed his face into it.

Like last night.

He sort of remembers holding Tsukishima's hand, and also that he almost went and blurted out a drunken confession in the middle of a street in Naples. "Your neck is going to get cold and you'll glare at me all the way home," He says, slowly letting go. Blunt as Tobio is, he's never felt any one set of words hanging of the edge of his lips, not like this; the urge to come out and say it is so strong it makes him dizzy. "You know I don't mind."

A long fingered hand stops him gently, it wraps around his own wrist. "You have foam on your face, idiot." Tsukishima says and his eyes are on Tobio's lips. 

If this were a romantic comedy— and it could be— this would be the moment when Tsukishima would reach out and brush the foam off his face, maybe he'd even lean over the table and kiss it off— the bastard's tall enough. 

How Tobio wishes it was.

Instead, he sits back, feeling like his face has burst into flames and furiously rubs the wetness away from his face. "You could have pointed it out earlier."

Tsukishima snorts, looking away. "You were too busy harping on me about the scarf."

"I was not harping—" Tobio shoots back, glaring down at the food on the table. And that starts a whole other discussion. 

At this point, it isn't even strange anymore, feeling so comfortable around someone when there's something that feels so big, so serious, as the fact that he's literally in love with the guy.

Yeah, Tobio's admitted it.

To himself, at least. He’sliterally shared a third of his life with this man, and if he could be certain it was what Tsukishima wanted, he'd be glad to continue doing so. 

Tsukishima's in his second coffee when he jumps. "Fuck."

Tobio's head snaps back. "What?" There's nothing in their immediate vicinity that should warrant a reaction like that. He turns to Tsukishima again. "Did you burn yourself or something?"

Rummaging through his pockets, Tsukishima groans. "It's nine already." He says, “Our tickets are for the train that leaves at ten past," He tugs out a few bills from his wallet. "And we're not that close to the train station, fuck, I should've set an alarm." He scrambles to gather the boxes in his hands, and Tobio does the same, groaning at moving after being still and comfortable for so long.

They lose a set of matryoshkas on the way to the station; it falls from the shopping bags and rolls under a parked car, only to find the train just leaving and a very angry man telling them that there's no way they're getting on another bus to Rome until five am. 

Oh, and that they're welcome to wait in the cold, on one of the benches, or in one of the little eateries of the station.

There really isn't anywhere else to go. Finding a hotel room doesn't seem like it's going to be easy in peak holiday season.

So Tobio plops down on the bench with a sigh. 

And Tsukishima storms off for the bathroom.

.

.

Well, that's it; this day sucks. Thiswhole trip _sucks_.

No, Kei sighs, that isn't fair. He splashes ice-cold water on his face and brushes his bangs back over his head. Truly, it's his fault. Hegot too caught up in whatever that was back at the cafe, he got too comfortable in the soft, dimly lit warmth, watching Kageyama smear sugar and cocoa all over his face like a clumsy toddler.

On top of the shabby, cracked looking porcelain counter, his phone vibrates.

**_FROM: VOLLEYBALL IDIOT #1_ **

_You alright?_

Kei groans, bracing himself on the cool porcelain. He's sleep deprived, tired, cold, and maybe he misses having Kageyama in his bed a little too much— so sue him, he's got urges and he's been feeding them well this past month. And he's in a terrestrial transport terminal, trapped until near-dawn unless he or Kageyama manage to rent a car.

That isn't such a bad idea, though, now that he thinks about it.

On his way back to their bench— where he _hopes_ Kageyama still is— he scouts a couple restaurants they could prospectively take refuge in while they wait. 

Kageyama is, indeed, still sitting on the bench. He's taken off the black winter coat Kei got him for Christmas a couple of years ago, thus leaving himself in the thermal sweatshirt and sweatpants that the team provided for them once they arrived. They're dark blue, the same hue as the setter's eyes, matching his hair— and this is merely an observation— cling to Kageyama's frame way more than it's fair for winter clothing to do. 

There’s a box sitting primly where Kei was just a little while ago. At first, he thinks it’s from the many things that,in retrospect, he shouldn’t have bought. But a closer look reveals a familiar design on the front. Kei takes it into his hands and sits down, holding it carefully.

Kageyama is pretending to be near nodding off, arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed into a little pout. He’s glancing at Kei in a way that’s more obvious than looking straight at him would be. "What if we try to find a van or something?" He says, hoping Kageyama doesn’t notice the knot that has just formed at the base of his throat. 

The setter jumps, squinting up. "Wha—?" He straightens up, scooting to the side to make space in the bench for Kei. "We can do that? Sure, if you can find one, this place's starting to look pretty dead." Clearly, he expected Kei to mention the headset that’s sitting in his hands, but he’s not sure what to say about it, other than how the hell did Kageyama know how much he was just regretting not buying a new one— or opening the one Kuroo gave him, even if it doesn’t feel right, because it _is_ a good model.

"Well that's what happens when you miss the last train and all the night trains are booked." Kei snarks back, flopping down beside Kageyama. He miscalculates, and their thighs end up pressed together almost up to their hips. "What?" He snaps at the puzzled look Kageyama fixes him with. "I'm tired and my eyes are getting dry." He scoots away, hands curled over his knees, after he sets the box on top of his thighs. 

An awkward second passes, before a cheeky smirk spreads over Kageyama's face and he chases Kei, pressing warm and solid into his side. "What?" He asks, startled out of his trying to form a coherent sentence around how grateful, how overwhelmed he is over something small like this. He doesn’t even manage fake-innocence.

"You're a pest," Kei hisses. He’sbeen chased to the very end of the bench, and he refuses to concede even another inch. Especially with Kageyama being smug like this. "How did I move across the world with you?"

Kageyama shrugs, looking away, eyes on the lit up signboards over their heads. "Beats me." He says, voice suddenly neutral. "I don't know how I moved away with a stick in the mud like you, Saltyshima." He says, sliding back to his original place in the bench.

Kei looks down at the phone between his hands, shit, he struck a nerve, didn't he? He stares down at the headset box, and feels like the world is trying to teach him a lesson, really hammering the point into him for the second time in a span of three months.

What to do? What to do?

He's called like three transport companies— and been told three times that it's peak holiday season and he's, at best, getting a cab by seven am tomorrow— by the time the silence really gets to him.

Now, the half-baked plan in the back of his head had been to get something with four or more wheels to get them back to Rome and then solve whatever tender feeling in Kageyama he just hurt with sex and maybe some breakfast takeout— and, at the same time, calming down himself-. But now, it seems that they're going to be stuck here for another seven hours with a Kageyama that looks grumpier than usual, and whose pinched face is making Kei feel guiltier and guiltier by the second.

No, he hasn't got the most tact in the world. Hell,he hasn’t got the most tact anywhere. Neither does Kageyama, but somehow Kei feels like he would still win if there was a contest of just who is the meaner one.

He weighs his options, and weighs, and weighs.

And then decides to throw weighing shit, and all caution to the wind, because he's been at his for half an hour and gotten exactly nowhere.

Kei glances at his side, where Kageyama is making a show of his terrible posture by slouching as far as he can on the chair, glaring into thin air like he's being personally offended by their rather polished and modern surroundings. 

Something strange, strong and bone-deep turns into a painful tug at the mouth of his stomach.

Taking a deep breath, he braces himself on the cool stone and slides right over to Kageyama, cheeks burning. 

Kageyama, bless his soul, says nothing.

Or at least that's what Kei thinks at first, but the silence stretches. It stretches for so long it's silly and the tugging in Kei's abdomen starts to churn with anxiety. "You're not so bad," he says, teeth gritted. "I mean, you're a slob," he continues grudgingly, it doesn't seem like enough. "And you have no concept of time, or taste in furniture. But I wouldn’t have moved here without you." He lifts the box and digs his fingers under the tape holding the lid shut. “And thank you for this.”

"What are you doing? It's weird. I’m fine." Kageyama grumbles, he doesn't move away, though. “You’re welcome, thought it might stop you from glaring this place to pieces."

And that's when it clicks, for Kei, this constant awkwardness the past few days. The fumbling of the last few weeks that never crossed the line into altogether uncomfortable, but did feel so new that it made his skin itch.

He thought they were sliding off the sharp edge of the knife, but—

"I’m sure you are," Kei says, lifting a hand to push his hair back over his skull, from one moment to another, his pulse has gone haywire. He could let this go, sink his face into his scarf. Kageyama, for all his faults, isn't one to hold a grudge, not when it comes to Kei. They would have ripped each other's guts out by now if he was. "You're making your sour face, though."

Kageyama slouches even more, he glares up at Kei through overlong, inky lashes. "I'm not making any face," He grumbles, totally making the face. The one with the crease between his eyebrows and the tight cheeks, and the upturned upper lip. "And so what if it's sour, I'm stuck here with your shitty attitude until dawn."

The nearest screen, a couple of meters in front of and above them, lights up in blue-white for an announcement, and Kei feels it swell up in his chest. "You do realize you just contradicted yourself, King, don't you?" He tries to smirk, but somehow doesn't feel like he manages. The sharpness he should be conjuring up just isn't there. "I can tone down the attitude if you stop making the face."

"I'm not making a face," Kageyama turns to him, expression unchanged. "Why don't you just put those on?” he gestures at the box. “Or sleep? Then you won't have to look at my face if it offends you so much." His hands are clasped tight in his lap, every minute there are less and less people milling about.

And Kei _is_ sleep deprived and tired, but what he does next is of his own volition only. "Of course you are." He says, poking at the wrinkle that's forming over the bridge of Kageyama's nose. "Here."

Kageyama's eyes widen, his mouth falls slack and open. And fuck, Kei could, he _should,_ lean in and kiss him. 

But they're still in public, and Kageyama kind of looks like Kei just hit him over the head with a hammer.

Kei coughs. "We could still try to find a room in a small hotel. Thebig ones are all out but—" He looks away, glasses fogging up for some reason. 

"Nah. " Kageyama grumbles, face slightly more relaxed than before. "It’s just a few hours."

Stubborn bastard. 

Kei doesn't feel like going anywhere either, though. He squirms, trying to get a little more comfortable in the chair as he digs the headset out of the box. “Thank you for this. I mean it,” he says softly as he slips it over his ears. 

He hasn’t connected it to his phone yet, so he hears it, loud and clear when Kageyama mutters. “I know you don't want to open the other one,” while looking away.

For just a second, he feels like the air in his chest has decided to swell up like a hot air balloon.

It's going to be a long seven hours. He presses play.

_When life gets too complicated_

_Please stand with me after dark_

_I'll stay in the limelight_

_Like a beautiful afterthought_

.

.

Now, Tobio is kind of getting worried.

After all, Tsukishima has the look of someone who hasn’t slept in like three days— he probably hasn’t, he usually can’t sleep when something’s bothering him— and people are starting to get freaked out.

He didn't sleep at the train station in Naples, where even Tobio snoozed for a little while, and he didn't sleep on the train. He's spent all this time listening to music with the headset Tobio got him and glancing at him like he thinks Tobio is either an international criminal masquerading as his old teammate from high school, or he’s managed to somehow grow a second head in the past ten hours.

Which, he hasn't; he checked.

Granted, maybe the guy just thinks he's losing it, or worse, has figured out that Tobio caught feelings for him, feelings of the very specific kind he never should've, and is trying to find a way to stop him in his tracks that does not leave him stranded without a roommate in a country where he barely knows anyone. 

It's not out of the question, seeing as, for the past couple of days, Tobio has just had to get stupidly emotional over tiny, inconsequential things. It’s not like he doesn’t realize he’s being stupid, but he wishes he could just control his stupid reactions to those tiny, stupid things that remind him the past few weeks have been a fluke. And Tsukishima, ever so sharp, he’s probably noticed and cataloged each and every seemingly senseless incident.

It’s probably not hard to come to a conclusion with that much. Tobio isn’t a particularly complex person. 

He knows this. 

Glancing at Tsukishima, whose face is, again, pinched, deep in thought, Tobio sighs. "Oi—" He bumps his fist on the blond's forearm. 

Tsukishima startles, a pale face snapping towards Tobio. "What?" He says, inappropriately loud, and aggressive enough that the couple in the chairs across the aisle turn to look at them.

Tobio just watches him for a second, and Tsukishima’s cheeks are tight. He’s been grinding his teeth for the last seven hours, and he’s sleep deprived as hell. Knowing him, he probably has a headache too. Tobio reaches out and slides the side of the headset closest to him from over Tsukishima's ear. "We're pulling into the station, you looked like you didn't notice." He says, intently staring at the plush red of the upholstery of the train chairs.

"I wasn't asleep." Tsukishima grumbles, pulling the headset down so it rests around his neck, his head falls back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Tobio tries to smirk at him. "I know." 

The blond makes a non-committal sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to get it to cooperate on solving a particularly difficult problem. He lifts his arms over his head and stretches. The joints of his back pop— making Tobio shudder, he _hates_ that sound— and though he's grimy, and looks like he’s two seconds from falling on his face from a night spent sitting on a hard bench on a train station, Tobio can't help but stare. 

For the past couple of days, this has been hitting him so hard that it's ridiculous.

He‘s known for a while that he was in love with Tsukishima— he has, even if he refused to think the exact words until a few days ago. But good lord, have these past few days been hard. He chalks it up to the fact that it’s been made clear, away from their apartment that they’re not a couple, no matter how the last two weeks have gone.

It’s kind of a wake up call, and Tobio really needs to stop and reevaluate, because he’s been itching for a kiss at the most inopportune times and it’s not doing him any favors.

Unless Tsukishima wanted the same, but that’s… it’s very unlikely, and Tobio knows better than to let himself hang on to hope. He’s never anyone’s choice, not in this.

The thought distracts him all the way out of the train station and through the cab ride— all while hauling the ridiculous amount of knickknacks that Tsukishima bought for the apartment through, and out of, and into places— until he finds himself setting down the stupid wooden egg-house or whatever that creepy thing is called on top of their living room table.

In front of him, Tsukishima sets the lamp down on the couch and groans. “I need a shower,” He grumbles, before stalking up the stairs as fast as he can without sprinting.

Bastard. If both of the showers are on, the shitty water heater won’t work properly and one of them will freeze while the other gets scalded. It hasn’t been too much of a problem, seeing as they have different routines and it’s not rare for the two to shower together.

Tobio groans and goes to this room, stripping himself off his grimy clothes quickly and bundling up in a terrycloth bathrobe instead. It’s still going to be a while; Tsukishima takes ridiculously long showers. 

He scrolls through his phone for a few minutes, before drowsiness takes over and he lets his head drop on the pillow. The steady hum of the heater lulling him into a doze.

“Kageyama—” someone calls, Tobio lifts his head, eyelids heavy with near-sleep. The figure standing in his doorway calls out to him again. “King, I’m done.”

Tobio drops his head back, stretching out his legs from where he’s curled them up to his chest at some point. “Mmmphgh—” is all he manages to come up with. “Coming.”

Tsukishima scoffs. “Don’t be a slob, go shower.” 

“Shut up.” Tobio whines. He does sit up though, feeling a little exposed in his bathrobe even though it’s ridiculous that he has even a shred of shame left when around Tsukishima. “’S not like you’re sleeping with me, Saltyshima,” He groans, rubbing at his eyes as he stands and blindly makes for the door. His choice of decor for his room is particularly spartan, and even though Tobio steps over his dirty clothes on his way, he’s pretty certain he can get through the doorway at least on memory alone.

Which is why he startles back and almost trips over himself when he collides with something hard and warm. “I can’t actually shower if you block the door, bastard,” He grumbles, looking away. 

Tsukishima, with his wet hair swept back over his scalp and no glasses in sight, just glares at him for a couple of seconds. “I’m—” His lips tighten and a flush rises to his cheeks. “I’m tired. And I want—” He finishes somewhat lamely, and then he gives Tobio this look, this frustrated, embarrassed, desperate look, like he’s supposed to do something specific now.

Like he’s supposed to know.

And Tobio does, he does he just can’t believe it because—

It makes little sense, maybe he’s still asleep.

Saying no to a look like that, though, is impossible for him. They’re not two puzzle pieces; they’re more like two matching cogs, meeting in the middle, harmonizing with each other in the most perfect way, filling in each other’s grooves. 

Tobio grasps the door jamb, hard, and he deepens the kiss. Tsukishima is in thick, comfortable pajamas, and he’s kissing slowly, almost languidly.

The kiss isn’t the kind that’s a prelude to something, it’s not opening a door. Tsukishima sags into him, comfortable; not fully loose, but relaxing more every second that passes. And that’s why it’s perfect.

It’s a goodnight kiss, and it’s fucking nine in the morning but Tobio really, really doesn’t care for fucking semantics. He pushes Tsukishima back into the door jamb, relishing on the kiss just for a few seconds longer before pulling back, heart pounding away in his chest like he’s just sprinted up a mountain. 

Tsukishima looks almost glad when their gazes meet. “My feet are freezing,” He says, like he’s dragging every word out of his throat with a fish hook. “I wanted—”

It’s hard, it’s hard and Tobio isn’t even sure of anything right now, only that they’re both tired and it’s not the time for having this conversation. Whatever it’s leading to. 

One of his hands is pressed over Tsukishima’s breastbone, and the wild pounding under it tells him there is a conversation to be had. “Get those into bed then,” Tobio says, feeling as choked up as Tsukishima looks. His face burns as he gestures at the bed, his own bed. “Like you said, I need a shower.”

The blond heaves out a relieved breath. “Get all the train station smell off, will you?” It’s meant to be a taunt, but it comes out soft, almost sweet. “I’m gonna pass out.”

“Knew you missed me!” Tobio laughs, turning around on knees that suddenly feel like they’re made of jelly. Sounding a lot more confident than he actually feels.

Or so he hopes.

“Shut up.” Tsukishima yells back. “Or I’m taking both pillows.”

“You always do that anyways.”

By the time Tobio comes back from his— short, _sensible—_ shower, the blond is indeed asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed, occupying both pillows because that’s how he sleeps and Tobio is going to be lucky to get even half of one for his own head.

He slides under the blankets, immediately drawn to the warmth of the other body in the bed. He buries his nose in the damp strands of Tsukishima’s hair and falls asleep shortly after.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Who's gonna get their head out of their ass to confess first! I'm so excited.  
> Love to know what you think.
> 
> Kisses, Kyrye

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are aaa I'm so excited. Times like this I do love being a multishipper.  
> I love knowing what you guys think.
> 
> Love y'all <3 Kyrye


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